


In Want of a Wife

by angeleledhwen (kallistei), eledhwen (kallistei)



Series: Charmed [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-23
Updated: 2004-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/angeleledhwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Want of a Wife

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Harry was thoroughly sick of that statement, having had it - and far too many considerably less well expressed equivalents - quoted to him, at him, and on his behalf countless times in the last four years. It never failed to astonish him that such a large proportion of the wizarding population had an inordinate fondness for Austen, both her words and her principles - at least the obvious ones. It seemed that almost everyone he met thought that being the first, and having the second, he must naturally be absolutely desperate for the third. On the spur of the moment (though not for the first time) he decided that the next person who quoted that sentence to him, or even so much as mentioned it in his vicinity, was going to be severely hexed. As for Austen, it was more than likely that only her death had saved her from an extremely painful one at Harry's hands. Unforgivable curses or no, he would at least have had his revenge.

In the last five years, he had defeated Voldemort, finished at Hogwarts, realised the true size of his inheritance and refused to make any final decision on his future, in that order. He had played Quidditch for England for a year, and it had been fun, but it hadn't suited him as completely he had expected it to, either. Ever since then, however, Harry had been stalked - in some memorable cases literally - by strange women who all seemed to think that he'd be just the perfect match for their eligible daughters, and by said daughters (equally strange), who all wanted to sleep with him. It wasn't that he didn't  _want_  a more active love life, or even that he particularly objected to the idea of marriage, but no one seemed to accept that the  _wife_  part of the statement was the real problem. Not that he'd tried particularly hard to convince them, but the principle still held. What had been amusing - barely - when he was eighteen was downright infuriating at twenty-two.

So he fumed silently as he stalked down Diagon Alley, studiously ignoring the way older women turned to their daughters to point him out, and young women turned to each other to whisper his name and comment on the fact that there was still no woman walking beside him. Head lowered, he avoided their gazes and walked just a touch faster. He was not fleeing in terror, he told himself, just avoiding a battle he had no hope of winning, outnumbered as he was. The few shops he stepped into to make necessary purchases he left as quickly as possible, despite the early October chill in the air outside. In every one of the shops someone, either customer or shopkeeper, would be sure to mention that they knew, or were related to, or just happened to  _be_ , a young woman who was just simply perfect for him. It took all of his self-control to resist retorting, "Not perfect, unless  _she_  is a  _he_." He wasn't yet ready to deal with the backlash  _that_ would cause.

By the time Harry reached his final destination, Madam Malkin's, he was almost ready to explode. There was a definite reason why he preferred to do the vast majority of his shopping by mail order, and every time he set foot in Diagon Alley, he was strongly reminded of it.

"You'd better make this up to me," he said with a hint of bitterness as he entered the shop and spotted the reason he was there.

"Poor Harry," said Hermione, turning away from the mirror. "Isn't being best man at our wedding enough?"

"No, that's a punishment," Harry said with a smile.

She wrinkled her nose at him, and asked "Everyone's still giving you a hard time?"

"But of course. I don't understand why they can't just leave me alone to live my life the way I want to!"

"That's the penalty of being the saviour of the wizarding world, Order of Merlin First Class, good-looking, a Quidditch World Cup winner and rich to boot, I'm afraid. Not to mention that your refusal to pick a job means that some people I could mention are just itching to reform you and get you to settle down. It's awfully romantic, you know."

He looked sidelong at her, suspicion in his eyes. "If you weren't going to marry Ron in a few months..."

She laughed. "Do give me credit for  _some_ sense, Harry - I know you better than that. Besides which," she added primly, "I'm perfectly happy with Ron, thank you very much."

Harry laughed too, at the tone of her voice. Hermione's apprenticeship with Professor McGonagall had been good for her - she was doing further studies in Transfiguration, and coming to grips with her Animagus form, while helping to teach the younger years. This had the added advantage of freeing some of McGonagall's time to help Professor Dumbledore, who had been showing his age far more since the hectic days at the end of the war. Hermione's engagement to Ron last year had come as no great surprise to Harry or the rest of their friends, although it had taken two years after leaving school to get them to admit their attraction and, eventually, love. That had changed her as well, and only for the better.

"So anyway, what do you think of this?" Hermione turned around, making the formal wedding robe swirl around her.

"It's a bride's robe, Hermione. It's white and sparkly. I really don't know why you're bothering to ask me." He didn't bother trying to keep the utter lack of interest he felt out of his voice. She already knew exactly how little he wanted to be here.

"Because I can't ask Ron, and you can tell me if he'd like it," she replied in an excessively patient tone.

"You're marrying him, you really ought to know his taste by now."

"Just tell me if _you_  like it, then."

Harry sighed and examined it a little more carefully. He didn't want to push her  _too_ far, after all. "I think I preferred the last one you tried last week," he said finally. "But you should choose the one  _you_  like best. I know Ron will love it anyhow. That is, if he's in any state to notice what you're wearing at the wedding, which I seriously doubt."

She smiled broadly. "That's a very good point. I think I'll try that one over there," she added to the shop assistant.

Harry took a seat and resigned himself to a long wait. At least the chairs were comfortable.

At length Hermione settled on a design, and arranged for Madam Malkin to have it ready for her for the wedding. Harry couldn't figure out why this particular style had turned out to be the  _one_  and the others hadn't - as far as he could tell the drape of the sleeves and the amount of lace weren't all that different from robe to robe - but Hermione had gone into ecstasies over the cut of the neckline on this particular set, and Harry knew to make particularly appreciative noises over it as a result. All he knew was, she looked lovely (and, he agreed with her, not too frilly or girlish), and he was sure Ron would be rapturous. He brought himself out of the light doze he'd slipped into long enough to give unnecessary approval, and almost shrunk back in fear at the positively vindictive (he thought) gleam in her eyes as she turned to him.

"Time to choose your robes, Harry."

Harry just managed to restrain a whimper. Voldemort had been nothing compared to this.

Three-quarters of an hour later, they'd managed to pick out a set of robes that Harry was willing to wear in public and that Hermione considered presentable enough to appear in her wedding. They were made of silk of so dark a green that it was almost black, trimmed in gold, and in the end even Harry had to admit that they looked very good on him.

"I think we can go to meet Ron now," said Hermione finally, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "He said he'd be waiting at Fortescue's."

"Okay, but I can't stay long. I've got some more things to do since I'm down here, then I want to get home before I get cornered."

"Sure," replied Hermione, laughing again.

As they approached Fortescue's, Harry caught sight of Ron sitting, seemingly alone, at a table outside the shop. Then the people blocking his view of the other side of the table moved, and Harry caught a glimpse of another person sitting there.

Oh no. No. This couldn't be happening.

"Hermione!"

"What is it, Harry?" she asked innocently.

"Don't you what is it Harry me!" he exclaimed, close to panic. "You didn't tell me  _she_  was going to be here?"

"But where else would she be? She  _is_ Ron's mother, after all, and of course she's helping to organise the wedding. Besides, I thought you liked her."

"I  _used_ to like her. Until she kept trying to persuade me of what a good wife Ginny would make. Or Bill's wife's sister. Or any other young woman she knew. I know she's got good intentions and all the rest of it, but  _really_..." Harry trailed off, horror-struck. She'd caught sight of them, was waving enthusiastically. It was too late.

"Look." Hermione said, smiling slightly. "I'll protect you, Harry. And you can leave after a little while."

"I'll hold you to that."

They were almost there. Harry gathered the shreds of his shattered courage around him and prepared to repel boarders.

"We who are about to die salute you," he muttered under his breath to the nameless, cruel gods who were about to inflict this horror on him.

"Oh,  _do_  stop being so melodramatic, Harry!" Hermione answered tartly, although equally quietly. "Brace yourself," she added with a distinct smile, which Harry decided to ignore. Five steps and they were there. Hermione kissed Ron hello and took one of the seats between him and Mrs Weasley. Harry took the other seat with extreme reluctance.

"Hermione, Harry!" Mrs Weasley - 'call me Molly, you're all grown up now' - said enthusiastically, leaning over to embrace each of them in turn. She exchanged pleasantries with Hermione, then turned her full attention to Harry, who barely managed to restrain an instinctive flinch. Ron didn't even bother trying to interrupt. He'd talk to Harry once his mother was done. If there was anything left of the other man at that point.

"So, Harry," Mrs Weasley began, "How have you been? You hardly ever visit us any more." It carried more than a hint of reproach.

"Uh… I'm okay, I suppose. Sorry I haven't been around, but I've been..." he hesitated. "Busy. Yes."

"But Harry, you don't have a job to keep you busy! Come to think of it, I've been wanting to have a talk with you about that. Even Fred and George are doing quite well for themselves now. You know what I've always thought of their business - and their persuading Ron to join them - but they've all been working hard at it. It's wonderful for you that you have all that money, but at your age you really should be working at something. Making your mark on the world." Harry refrained from pointing out that he'd already made  _quite_  enough of a mark on the world for his liking.

"Mrs Weasley..." He corrected himself quickly at a warning look from her. "Molly, I have some, er, projects of my own. And, well, I don't want to be tied down to a job yet. I want to enjoy my life for a while." He just managed to prevent himself from adding 'and it is  _my_  life, and none of your business'. It would have been unfair - she, at least, was looking after what she saw as Harry's best interests rather than her own, unlike most of the other people who wanted to advise him.

"It's been four years, Harry. Surely you've enjoyed yourself enough! You should be thinking about settling down. Getting married. Yes, I know, you don't feel ready for it, but Ron and Hermione are your age, and look at them! It'd be good for you."

"Maybe it would," Harry conceded, unwilling to get into an argument about it. Inspiration struck. "But they're in love, and I haven't found anyone I could love yet, and I want to wait for that. After seeing how happy they are, I couldn't really settle for anything less." It wasn't  _quite_  a lie, he told himself. He was just a little jealous of what his two best friends had found in each other, but he thought at least he hadn't shown it.

Molly pounced on his unwary remark. "Harry, you don't even  _try_  to meet any of the girls I want to introduce you to! If you talked to them, you might like them, but if you don't meet anyone, how are you going to fall in love with them?" It wasn't really a question.

He was defeated, as he had known he would be. "Okay," he sighed, "I'll meet someone next week. Is that all right for you?"

She smiled. Harry told himself that the triumph and sheer vindictiveness he thought he saw in it was just his mind playing tricks on him. "Good. I'll arrange dinner on Thursday with one or two of them. Now, I'm sure you want to catch up with Ron."

"Yes." Harry turned to Ron, who was hiding a smile, but not before he'd spared a glare for Hermione. Some 'protection' she'd been. Affecting to talk to Molly, she blushed faintly but pretended not to have seen it.

Half an hour later, Harry made his excuses and got up with some relief. Molly was starting to get that gleam in her eye again that meant she was going to try to make him do something he wouldn't enjoy, and besides he still had some errands to complete.

He was only halfway to Flourish and Blotts when he noticed a child approaching him. Oh no.

"Harry Potter?" the girl questioned in a voice that he would have described as adorable not so long ago, but that he now heard with something approaching abject fear.

"Yes," he replied, valiantly keeping his emotions out of his voice.  _She can't possibly be more than eight and she's probably much more scared of you than you are of her_ , he thought to himself. It wasn't much help.

She looked up at him, eyes positively glowing, then looked back at someone, presumably a parent. Receiving a nod, she said in a rush, "CanIhaveyourautograph? Please?"

Harry repressed a sigh - and the urge to remind her to breathe from time to time - and nodded. At least she didn't look like she was going to be particularly bothersome, unlike some others he could recall. The girl who'd wanted him to adopt her, and marry her when she grew up, for one. He extracted a Muggle ballpoint pen from a pocket of his robe - she gaped at this curious gadget - and signed the napkin she held out.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, and leaned closer, lowering her voice as if imparting a secret of international importance. "My sister's going to be so jealous! She's nineteen and she thinks you're great!"

Harry was profoundly grateful for small mercies. "Well, in that case, be sure to tell her hi from me," he said, hoping that Fate would put it down for a brownie point.

The girl scuttled off to her parents and Harry put his head down and walked fast in the direction of Knockturn Alley so that he could avoid seeing any other 'fans'. At least there he'd be reasonably safe. He hoped.

***

Just one more shop to visit and he'd be finished here. He could go home, relax, and attempt to create some sort of damage control plan for Thursday night. Not that he'd be successful, but it would hopefully at least make him feel less helpless in the force of the Weasley tornado. He tucked his chin further against his chest and heaved a sigh.

In the Potions supplier's, he grabbed a bottle of powdered sphinx tooth from the shelf, and made for the counter. Five minutes, and he could finally be home. Or maybe not. There was another customer in front of him, and with his luck, it'd probably take forever for him to finish. Harry stood behind the other man and tried not to fidget, his eyes fixing blankly on the back before him.

Although there was something awfully familiar about those black robes… Harry leaned forward slightly and sniffed gently. Yes, a dusty, cinnamony, unique smell that he could remember with surprising clarity, even after four years. He had been carried off the field after the final battle wrapped in those robes and held in their owner's arms, and most of the details were fairly well ingrained in his memory.

"Professor Snape!"

The other man turned away from the shopkeeper in some surprise, which only intensified when he registered who was standing behind him. "Mr Potter," he said after a moment. "I must say I had never expected to find you here."

His voice proved that, even four years on, it was still completely capable of sending shivers up Harry's spine.

Snape turned back to the shopkeeper and completed his purchase while Harry tried to think of some opening gambit, anything he could say that wouldn't make him sound like a gibbering idiot. He hadn't thought that he'd see anyone from Hogwarts here today - it was term time, so the teachers should have been there, and most of his classmates had jobs that occupied them. In fact, that was one of the reasons he'd finally agreed to meet Ron and Hermione in such a public place. He certainly hadn't expected to see Snape here. And he'd thought he was over that particular crush long ago, but clearly he had been wrong. Right now, his body was being quite enthusiastic in telling him so.

Harry stepped up to the counter as Snape moved away. As he waited for his change, he peered quickly over his shoulder, sure that the other man would have made his escape. He certainly wouldn't want to have to talk with his former most hated student, but he actually appeared to be waiting for Harry. Harry was astonished, but decided not to question it. After all, they had come to something of a cease-fire in his last two years at Hogwarts. Maybe Snape didn't dread the idea of his company as much as he'd thought. Hermione never told him much about Snape, perhaps assuming that he wouldn't want to hear it. He hadn't known that he still wanted to until just that minute.

"Professor?" Harry said tentatively, approaching Snape, and then struck about for something to say. The man's ability to make him feel an awkward fifteen again was truly astonishing.

"What is it, Potter?" Well. Maybe he hadn't been waiting for him after all. Harry forged on nevertheless, since he'd already interrupted.

"It's... er, it's been a long time," he tried.

"It has."

Well, if he was going to be that way... Harry sighed quietly. Clearly if he wanted a conversation, he was going to have to do all the work. "I'd like to talk to you, if you're not too busy, that is. Hear about Hogwarts and everything."

"I would have thought Miss Granger would have told you about it." He paused, as if waiting for a response or refutation, but Harry was busy trying to figure out a strategy for getting Snape to stay around just a little longer.

"However, if you wish to speak to me," the professor continued, probably realising that Harry wasn't about to say anything just then, "I suppose we could go to the Leaky Cauldron or some such. I am not expected back at Hogwarts for a few hours."

Hmm, maybe Harry wouldn't have to do  _everything_ after all. But he didn't want to go to anywhere so public. Other people would want to speak to him, and besides, he suspected that he might make a fool of himself. Having Snape see it would be bad enough without the audience he would be sure to gather in such a public place.

"I'd really rather not. Not there."

Snape gave him a questioning look, but Harry pretended incomprehension. "Would you... would you like to come to my house? Just to talk." He winced. He'd added the last sentence far too quickly and defensively.

Harry thought he saw a smile threatening at the corners of Snape's mouth, but his reply was perfectly serious. "Since I have finished my errands, I don't see why not. At least I will be able to boast that I am one of the few to have seen the home of famous Harry Potter."

Harry gave a mental sigh at the reappearance of that phrase, which he'd heard entirely too much of in recent years. "We can Floo in," he said in a faintly grumpy tone. "I have anti-Apparation wards."

Snape looked unwillingly impressed. "It seems my teachings did not go entirely to waste then. I suppose you usually have your Floo closed, too."

"Yes," Harry replied. "The direction is 'Haven'."

"And is it one?" Snape asked, giving him a thoughtful glance.

"The best I've found so far."

They made their way to the Diagon Alley Floo with little conversation. Harry was too busy to try to talk - too busy trying to ignore the increased whispers that followed him as people noticed his companion, and realised that it was Snape, too busy trying to think of something sensible to say when they reached his house. He was going to impress Snape for once, since the man seemed willing to give him company. At least with him he was free from threats of eligible women, settling down and jobs. Or, at least, that was what he told himself, and tried to ignore the part of his mind that kept casting up images of the time the two of them had spent not-quite working together, and how they might have got decidedly  _closer_.

He never thought he'd see the day he looked at Snape as a companion preferable to, well, almost anyone he could think of. He gave himself a mental shake as he stepped into the Floo and said "Haven" in the most competent tone he could muster.

***

He stumbled out of the Floo into his living room. It had actually started life as a study, but he'd found the 'real' sitting rooms too large for his needs and yet somehow claustrophobic at the same time. At any rate, he'd thought them completely impossible to live in, so he'd reorganised this room. Moving the desk and its chair aside made just the right amount of space for two armchairs and a two-person sofa, and the books lining the walls made it look cosy, even if he'd not yet read any of them. After all, no one else would know that. Other shelves held souvenirs of his travels, his Quidditch trophy and his Order of Merlin medal.

He gathered himself and moved out of the way just as Snape stepped out of the fireplace, appearing completely composed. Harry stamped on the urge to glare at the man for daring to always be so dignified. It just wasn't right! At least he hadn't seen Harry falling over his own feet, as he did all too frequently.

"Have a seat," Harry said, indicating the far less worn armchair of the two. He rather doubted Snape would want to sit on the sofa, especially if Harry was to share it with him. His suspicion was cemented when the man obeyed his request without comment.

"Excuse me," he added as he began to unfasten his robes. Shrugging out of them, he tossed them over the back of the desk chair and took the armchair he preferred, now dressed only in Muggle jeans and a t-shirt.

Snape looked mildly disturbed by Harry's abrupt stripping. Perhaps he ought to explain. "I never wear robes in the house. They're just too restricting." He decided not to mention the other reasons he'd like to remove his robes in front of the other man. It wasn't good for his reputation to have guests run screaming from the house. Not that anyone would be there to notice, with the wards he had around the place, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Ah."

An awkward pause followed as Harry settled into the chair, broken by the appearance of a house-elf, who picked up his robes and prepared to carry them off. Harry interrupted to ask for a cup of coffee, and Snape added a similar request at his invitation.

"So, er, what've you been doing the last few years?" asked Harry, now that the initial silence had been broken.

"Little out of the ordinary, I'm afraid. Teaching with scant hope of the children actually learning anything from me. Longbottom does seem to have left a successor, however. Natalie Jones, one of this year's Hufflepuffs, bids fair to follow in his lumbering footsteps..." As Snape talked, Harry allowed his eyes to wander over the man, taking in the changes. He hadn't expected him to be this chatty, but it gave him a good excuse to stare, under cover of paying attention to his words.

The professor looked much the same as he always had, the robes revealing little of what lay beneath, though the planes and edges of his face hovered perilously close to too thin. His hair now had a few strands of grey in it - hardly surprising, considering his age and the stress of Harry's last three years of school. Other than those, however, he could have been any age between thirty and fifty, although Harry knew he was slightly closer to the higher end of that range. His nose was as hooked as ever, his skin just as sallow, his lips just as thin and close to cruel. His eyes were still dark and penetrating, seeming to look right through Harry's skin and into the very heart of him. In short, he was sexy as hell. And that was exactly what Harry had spent a large portion of his seventh year thinking, when not fighting Voldemort. Harry felt a slight involuntary shiver go through him at the way those eyes were now focused on him.

Suddenly, one of Snape's sentences made its way into Harry's consciousness. "Somehow I think you're not listening to me."

Oops. "Sorry. I was thinking about something else."

"Dare I ask what?"

No. "Oh, nothing particularly important."

The eyebrow. "Clearly it is far more interesting than my conversation. Which, you led me to believe, was the reason for your invitation."

"Oh. Um." Harry could feel himself blushing slightly, and cursed mentally, reminding himself yet again that he was not fifteen any more.

"Never mind, Potter. Perhaps you will pay more attention if you're telling me about yourself."

Wait. Was that Snape asking how he'd been? In a roundabout, backwards sort of way, but asking about him nonetheless. Harry desperately wanted to gape in shock.

"Well, uh..."

Snape was definitely holding back a smile; Harry could see it in the way his eyes were glinting. But then he supposed that Snape would find his incoherency amusing, especially since he'd asked the man here but now seemed unable to say anything.

"Shall we begin with something simple, perhaps? As you asked me, what have you been doing with yourself since the end of the war?"

"Oh..."  _Get a grip on yourself, just because you're talking to Snape doesn't mean you have to revert to eleven years old!_  "Well, I did some travelling at first."

"Yes. Albus gave us regular reports of your location. I for one could have done without them."

Harry rolled his eyes at the half-expected comment, but continued. "I suppose I don't need to elaborate on that, then. I came back to England when I turned twenty, then I played Quidditch for a year and rented a flat in London. That, er, that didn't work out terribly well, so I ended up buying this place."  _And made it as difficult as humanly possible for anyone at all to get in without my permission. After the debacle at the flat, I was never going to make_  that _particular mistake again. God, I think I'm turning into him. No wonder he agreed to come here and talk to me._

Snape glanced over at Harry's trophy. "Yes, I did see the headlines about the World Cup. It was utterly impossible to avoid them, in fact. I suppose very belated congratulations are in order. And I assume you've been doing nothing much with your time since then? After all, discussion on your final choice of career is the second most popular subject of conversation in the wizarding world - after your choice of bride." Snape gave him that familiar smirk.

Harry repressed the urge to growl, and told himself that curiosity hadn't coloured the last part of that sentence, and even if it had, he wasn't pleased by it. Not at all. It was just a crush and he was going to get over it. Stuttering idiot was not a good look on him. Besides, he had to defend himself.

"Well, since I had a lot of free time, I've, um, been taking the chance to do some research of my own."

"Oh?"

"Yes, actually." He couldn't help letting a little defensiveness into his tone, but knew that it was backed up with confidence. At least here, he had something he could be proud of. "I've been looking at Charms to counter the first two Unforgivables. Or at least, I started there and I sort of wandered into looking at prophylactics as well." It had been simple curiosity at first; then had come the realisation that the fact that Voldemort was dead didn't mean that the counters would never be needed.

"Have you managed to discover anything?" The sneer couldn't hide the interested and unwillingly impressed tone Harry spotted lurking in that sentence.

"Actually, I've had some interesting results. Obviously, since I can't try them out as true counters it's been quite difficult, but I've had some success with milder hexes that have similar effects. I'm considering applying to the Ministry for permission to experiment more extensively, but I think that I really need some more concrete evidence before I go to them."

As he elaborated more on his work and his plans on how to continue, Harry's residual nervousness slipped quietly away. He hadn't spoken about it to anyone except Hermione, who helped him out when he was particularly stuck. Not even Ron knew, unless she'd told him. No doubt a large portion of the world would be astonished at how much he enjoyed this strange choice of past-time, but he had no intention of them finding out for now. Why deprive them of one of their favoured topics of conversation? The daily headlines were proof of how much people loved to debate the fecklessness of the Boy Who Lived and to contemplate ways of 'reforming' him.

"Have you given any thoughts to combining a charm with another form of magic? Potions, for instance?"

Harry bit back a smile. Considering that it came from Snape, that question was awfully close to an admission of interest and an offer of help, which didn't bother him in the slightest. "Actually, I had, but I know I'm not nearly good enough at brewing potions to start trying to make experimental ones. But if you're interested, I could let you have a copy of my notes..." He let the sentence trail off, hoping Snape would agree to his suggestion.

"I would appreciate that. I could read through them and put together some ideas, although I have some other projects to complete first."

"That sounds good. It would make my case to the Ministry more convincing if I had your support and help, and more than one idea on how to approach the problem." He paused a moment, wondering if what he was going to say was too much, too soon, then decided why not say it anyway. Asking couldn't hurt all  _that_  much. "Maybe we could meet up in a month or so, to discuss what you come up with?"

Snape hesitated.

"I could come to Hogwarts, of course," he offered. "Hermione's been trying to get me to visit her there anyway."

"Very well. If I think of anything particularly important, I will send you an owl. I assume that they will be able to find the way here?"

"Actually, no. But the letter will get to me."

Snape looked slightly puzzled, but didn't ask. Harry didn't offer an explanation. No doubt the man would figure it out soon enough, and he rather enjoyed doing something that Snape hadn't foreseen.

"Very well. I will take my leave then, as I have classes to teach tomorrow, and preparations to make."

"Okay. Thanks for the conversation." It was as well that he didn't expect any return platitude, as Snape offered none, merely stepped into the Floo and spoke his destination in a clear, even tone.

Harry shivered again.

***

Harry took one last look at himself in the mirror. If Molly found any faults in his appearance, he'd quite simply never hear the last of it. It would do, he thought to himself, taking in the effect of simple, light linen forest-green robes, open in front to show a crisp white shirt and black trousers. Business-like enough that he could consider the clothing a form of armour against the torture to come. Stylish enough that Molly would not be able to complain. He nodded briskly at his reflection (which winked back in a most annoying manner - the lucky thing didn't have to go to this dinner), told his knees to stop quivering  _right now_ , and made for the Floo.

He stepped out of the Floo in Diagon Alley, made for a quiet-seeming corner, and used a minor cleaning charm to take care of the Floo soot. Then he Apparated to the Burrow before he could be cornered by one of the women who had gathered to point and gossip in even the few minutes he'd been there. After a moment to gather himself, he tapped on the door and waited for an answer, finding himself hoping that something - not  _too_  terrible, of course - had happened to cause the dinner plans to be cancelled.

As he stood on the doorstep, he reminded himself firmly not to fidget and distracted himself with tugging on his clothes to straighten them. "Come on Harry," he said to himself. "Pull yourself together. It's only a couple of hours, after all. If you can survive an hour alone with Snape, you can manage this." He knew he was lying. Snape had been unexpectedly civil and helpful. The people Molly had gathered were no doubt lying in wait right now waiting to tear him limb from limb. Maybe if he was very lucky they'd be too busy fighting each other and leave him in peace.

The door swung open, ominous as a dragon's gaping maw. Her hand still grasping the door handle, Molly beamed at him, and Harry ruthlessly crushed down the beginnings of trembling, telling himself that there couldn't possibly be gleaming teeth surrounding her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Come in! We're just waiting for a few more people."

Harry shuffled down the hall towards the noise emanating from the living room. As he entered, he registered it contained three pretty, chattering, young women - clearly for his 'benefit' - and their respective families. He had no idea how Molly planned to get all these people around a dining table, but she answered that question before he could even formulate it properly.

"Now that Harry's here," the entire room turned to face him and stare, "we can move out into the garden. The table's set up, so please find your places. The Kastrians will be here soon, and we'll be able to start." Harry was grateful that it had been a remarkably mild autumn so far. There was a general movement to the back of the room, not without some jostling as people tried to get closer to Harry. Thankfully, no one had tried to speak to him yet, but he was sure it would only be a matter of time. Molly would see to that.

Halfway through dinner, Harry admitted to himself that maybe it wasn't  _quite_  as bad as he'd expected it to be. Admittedly, Moira, the girl on his right - girl was definitely the word, from the look of her she couldn't have been more than sixteen, and she acted even younger - would give a babbling brook competition. That would have been bad enough without the fact that she had the most nasal voice he'd ever had the displeasure of hearing, and the concept of sense was quite clearly a mythological beast to her. But the girl on his left - Alexia - was actually rather charming, not to mention capable of a decent conversation. He talked quite happily to her through dinner, and Molly beamed graciously at them both. Moira and one of the other girls glared at them, while the other one looked quite happy to be ignored. He wondered what her story was, as the expression on her face rather mirrored what had been on his just before he had left his house.

After dinner, he fulfilled his obligations by talking to the two he had not been seated beside. The girl he had been curious about turned out to be called Phyllis and was apparently the sister of Bill's wife. Molly had been trying to get him to meet her for months. However, she seemed reluctant to speak to him, so they parted after a few minutes, with mutual relief. And the final girl, Octavia Kastrian, while certainly a better conversationalist than Moira, somehow sent off every mental alarm he'd developed in recent years. She'd be climbing all over him in a matter of minutes if he kept talking - he knew the type, rather too well. Finally Molly gave him a little nod of approval, and he felt justified in going over to resume talking to Alexia. If he left now, Molly would never forgive him.

By the end of the evening, they were well on the way to friendship. Somewhat grudgingly, Harry decided that he was actually slightly glad to have come here. People not overawed by his 'victory' over Voldemort were few and far between these days, and he didn't have so many close friends left that he could afford to refuse any that offered so freely.

By the time they were both preparing to leave, he had found out that Alexia was three years his junior, much preferred to be called Alex, and had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. Her family, the Sterani, had been wizards for centuries, but had never taken part in what she called 'that elitist pureblood nonsense'. His only worry was that she might think he was offering something that he couldn't give, but even that was settled by a comment she made as they were donning their coats in the corridor.

"There'll never be anything like Molly wants between us, will there?"

Harry shook his head, a touch regretfully.

"Oh well. At least I know where I stand, then. I rather thought you weren't… interested," and she smiled.

Harry smiled back, relieved. She'd probably realised his inclinations; how he wasn't sure, but he wasn't quite prepared to announce it yet if she hadn't.

He bid everyone a cordial goodnight, and prepared to return home. Alex would owl him in a few days to perhaps arrange another meeting, and just maybe Molly would stop pestering him for a while. At least until it became apparent that there was nothing romantic between the two of them. Until then, however, he would ensure that she got news of his friendship with Alex, and perhaps he could have a little peace.

***

It had been six weeks since Harry's meeting with Snape. He hadn't received an owl in that time, so he assumed that the man had come up with nothing of earth-shattering importance. Still, he  _had_  arranged to visit. He finished writing a note to Hermione saying that he'd come to visit her next week, and gave it to a post-owl. He had another task for Hedwig. Then he took up his quill once more to write a note to Snape.

Half an hour later, he had several crumpled sheets of parchment scattered about and another fresh one in front of him. The ink in his quill had dried up yet again. Why did everything connected with that man have to be so difficult? It was only a note, for Merlin's sake! He gritted his teeth and began once more.

Professor Snape,  
I'll be visiting Hermione on Friday, and probably spending the weekend at Hogwarts. Would you like to meet up at some point to discuss things?

Hedwig will bring back your reply.  
Harry

 

He decided to leave it at that. Simple was best - at least that way he wouldn't start babbling or have the opportunity to write anything particularly stupid. Despite Snape having offered his help, he somehow doubted that the man really wanted a long letter from Harry. He folded the note over, sealed it and addressed it to Snape. Then he gave it to Hedwig, instructing her to wait for a reply, and despatched her.

Harry found himself unable to concentrate fully on anything for the rest of the day. He told himself that it was ridiculous. Told himself that it was purely a business trip, to see if Snape had found anything that could help him with his case. That anyway, he was going primarily to visit Hermione. That there was no way that the man could  _possibly_ be interested in him, even if he happened to prefer men. Which, he reminded himself, he didn't have even the slightest indication of. None of this really helped.

Eventually he gave up on attempting to distract himself and allowed himself to sit and wonder what Snape would have to tell him.

Not Snape, Severus.

"Severus," he said aloud, rolling it over his tongue like a choice mouthful of some horribly expensive wine. It felt awfully good in his mouth. Much as Severus himself would, he imagined.

_Bad_  Harry!  _Bad_  thought!

He whimpered and seriously contemplated banging his head against the wall in the hope that it would provide him with some measure of sense. Or, if not that, self-preservation at least. He couldn't think of a better way to get himself killed than to have that sort of thought about Snape when he was probably going to be working with the man fairly closely in the near future.

He hoped.

Hedwig returned with Snape's reply the next day.

 

' _Try not to disrupt my schedule too much.  
Severus_ '

 

While it wasn't exactly an engraved invitation, Harry decided it would do for his purposes. And he had signed it 'Severus'. Harry's heart gave a strictly unauthorised leap when he noticed that.

***

On Sunday he had arranged to meet up with Alex. They'd owled with increasing frequency as the weeks passed, and she'd even visited him twice. He'd seen Ron a couple of times during that period, and he had asked about her - on behalf of his mother, naturally. Harry had been glad to be able to reply, with perfect honesty, that they were getting along well and that he liked her very much. No doubt Molly was hearing similar things from Alex's side, or at least he hoped that was the case.

They had arranged to meet up in Muggle London after Harry had explained, with much embarrassment and hesitation, exactly why he preferred not to spend much time in public in wizarding areas. Alex had laughed and said she understood perfectly after seeing and hearing the other girls (and their families) at The Burrow.

There was a definite chill in the air, noted Harry as he stood outside Knightsbridge tube station, where Alex had suggested they meet. He rubbed his hands together, wishing that he'd brought his gloves, and that she'd turn up soon. The second wish was granted within a few minutes when he spotted Alex crossing the road towards him.

"Hi," she smiled when she was close enough.

They exchanged greetings and pleasantries, then Harry asked the question that he'd been pondering while he waited. "So, why did you want to meet here?"

"Two words, Harry. Christmas presents."

He sighed. "Why does every woman I know want to take me shopping? Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I enjoy it!"

She laughed. "It's your own fault. I needed to visit Harrods, and you wanted to meet in Muggle London. I'm just taking shameless advantage of your need for privacy."

"Fine. But isn't it a bit early to be doing your Christmas shopping?"

"Not really. It's already the end of November, and trust me, you don't want to be looking for presents in London in December."

"Oh. Well, I've never been here before, and I suppose I could pick up some presents here too," he said, attempting to make the best of the situation.

"Sounds like a good idea," she replied. "Did you know they have a Wizarding department here too? Of course, you need to have certain... credentials... to get in, but that shouldn't be a problem for us."

"Hey! The whole point of meeting here was to avoid other wizards. Or, more to the point, witches."

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll protect you."

"I remember what happened the last time a friend promised that," he said pessimistically, not clarifying when she gave him a curious look. It was a petty sort of revenge, but it was revenge nonetheless.

Harry muttered darkly to himself as they entered the shop just in case he hadn't made his feelings amply clear already. Alex smiled at the positively childish pout on his face and while he held it for as long as possible, in the end he just had to laugh too.

Deciding that he might as well make the best of it while they were there, he picked up a few things for presents and for his house, paying for them with the appropriate currency. He hovered over a neat little Potions-kit, magically related to Moody's old trunk. It would have been perfect for Snape, and he contemplated buying it for a moment, but couldn't think of any possible way he could have given it to the man.

_Hi Severus, I know we haven't been talking civilly for very long, but you see I've had a crush on you for positively ages, and I saw this and thought of you. Here, have a present._  Yes, he could see that going over  _very_  well.

Besides, Snape probably had one already, and Alex was giving him a decidedly speculative look. He hurriedly moved to another display before she could comment. When Alex paid for her selections in the Muggle section of the shop, he was surprised to see her hand over a credit card and sign for it with the appearance of someone who used it often.

"What are you doing with a credit card?" he asked, as they walked away having made arrangements for their purchases to be delivered.

"Didn't you realise my mother was a Muggle?"

"Er, actually, no."

"Oh. Well, she is. Obviously, Grandad wasn't too happy when Dad decided to marry her, but he'd spent so much time fighting the Malfoys and their ilk about the stupidity of being prejudiced against people because they were half-Muggle or had married Muggles or whatever, that he couldn't really say much against it." She smiled. "Anyhow, Mum insisted that I learn the Muggle way of living too, and visit her parents and things like that."

"Oh."

"Now, where should we have lunch? Someone told me about a new restaurant in Bloomsbury the other day..."

***

Friday the third of December. A fateful day in the annals of Harry Potter's life. Or, at least, he hoped that it would become one after today.

He Apparated into Hogsmeade after lunch, and walked slowly up to the school. He hadn't visited since his last day as a student and he looked around eagerly, glad to see few changes in both the village and the school. No one accosted him on the way, for which he was profusely glad.

On arriving, he made his way towards the Headmaster's office to say hi. There was no harm in being civil, and it would be nice to see Dumbledore again. He was clearly expected, as the old wizard met him halfway up the stairs to the second floor with an enthusiastic greeting. "Hermione told me you would be visiting her this afternoon," he explained as he led Harry to his office. After a quick round of tea, sweets and news - 'Congratulations on the Quidditch World Cup, pity the team couldn't hang on to it without you', 'Professor Flitwick has decided to retire next year, so I'm busy looking for a new Charms teacher. I would naturally prefer not to re-enact the Defence Against the Dark Arts problems of your years here.' - Harry wandered down to the younger years' Transfigurations classroom to see if Hermione was free.

The closed door announced that she was taking a class, but her return note had said that he was welcome to sit in on one if he wished. He decided to take her at her word, and knocked.

"Harry!" she exclaimed happily when he poked his head round. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

The class - Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, second-years from the look of them - broke into a spate of whispers.

"Mind if I sit at the back?"

"Of course not. I've even kept a seat for you."

He thanked her and made his way to it, trying to ignore the continued, although slightly less obvious, whispers. Hermione soon hushed her class with what was becoming practiced ease, and resumed the lesson. Harry watched in admiration. She was turning into a very good teacher. The students clearly liked her, and didn't seem afraid to ask questions, but there was also very little messing around. She was doing very well, and Harry found himself wondering what it might be like to teach at Hogwarts himself. He dismissed the thought, of course -  _him_ , a teacher? - but it was rather intriguing. And there had been the Headmaster's comment about Flitwick. Now that he thought back on it, he seemed to remember a rather suspicious glint in Dumbledore's eyes, but then again, that glint was  _always_ there.

After the class had been dismissed, Hermione took him back to her rooms so they could chat in comfort. While they were still in the Transfigurations corridor, they saw Snape, who nodded to them both in greeting. Harry smiled back. It was only polite after all, but Snape appeared faintly worried by this almost friendly response to his courtesy. After he had vanished around a corner, Hermione admitted to being slightly bewildered by his appearance. There was no reason for him to be near the Transfigurations classrooms. "Unless, of course, he realised you were visiting me and wanted to see you," she added jokingly. Harry tried not to be too excited by that prospect. It had to be just chance, and besides Hermione had only been teasing him. He said something teasing back and they continued towards her quarters.

She had been given a comfortable set of rooms not far from her classroom. Harry handed over the little trinket he'd brought for her, and looked around with undisguised interest, having never before seen the private quarters of any of the teachers. He had vaguely expected them to be somehow impersonal, but the fact that Hermione lived there was clear from the moment he walked into her sitting room. They were  _her_  rooms, from the comfortable, welcoming furniture arranged around the room to the neat piles of completed marking on the desk and the pictures - her and Ron at their engagement party, her parents, the Weasleys and the three of them on their last day of school - on the mantelpiece.

"So why are you really here, Harry?" she asked after they had exchanged a few pleasantries.

"Erm," said Harry guiltily. "To visit you, I thought you knew that?"

She gave him a look that said quite clearly that she knew he had another reason. "I've been asking you to visit for the last two years. Maybe you are here to visit me but I'm convinced you have an ulterior motive."

Harry decided he might as well go ahead and tell her. While she would accept it if he decided not to say anything, she would be very curious and after all, it wasn't like he had any reason to hide why he wanted to see Snape. Not really. Well, not the main reason, at any rate. "Um," he began, wondering where to start. "You know the thing I've been working on at home?"

"Yes..." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he refrained from asking if she'd picked the expression up from Snape. He didn't need any more questions along the lines of why he'd been studying Snape's expressions.

"Well, after I left you that day in Diagon Alley, I went to pick up some other things, and I ran into Snape. We... got talking, and I told him about what I'd been working on. He said that he'd like to have a try at looking at potions that could help. You know that I've been looking for other ways of tackling the problem, and of course something that will support my work when I go to the Ministry, so I said he could. It's been a bit more than a month now. I just thought it would be a good time to see if he'd found out anything."

"Oh." Hermione's face showed that she was surprised by this answer, and that she thought that there was more to the story than Harry was saying. She was distracted, however, when he began to question her on the progress of the wedding plans. It was set for the first week of the Easter holidays, giving them time for a honeymoon before Hermione would have to come back and teach. Hermione happily gave him all the details until it was time for dinner, and Harry congratulated himself on the success of his diversionary tactics. He hadn't been trained in them by the Order of the Phoenix for nothing.

At dinner he exchanged the same nod and smile routine with Snape across the table, but they were separated by several people and didn't get to speak. Hermione eyed them both curiously, but said nothing. Harry thanked Merlin that he hadn't given in to the temptation to tell her about his crush on Snape in seventh year.

He spent the night in one of the unused teachers' suites, kept in readiness for the occasional visiting parent or the teachers' research partners.

On Saturday morning, after breakfast, Harry walked down to the dungeons to see Snape.

Snape was in his classroom, poking around in a cupboard for something or other, when Harry arrived. He knocked on the open door, waiting in the doorway until he was told to enter.

"What is it?" snapped Snape without turning around. "I'm busy."

"Oh, well if it's a bad time, I can come back later..." began Harry.

Snape snapped around so fast Harry was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "I'm surprised to see you down here so early," he hesitated for just a beat, "Potter. However, since I'm working on something for your project I suppose you might as well come in."

Harry smiled. "Good to see you too." He wished Snape would stop calling him 'Potter'. It might at least provide more fuel for his fantasies if the man would deign to call him by his first name. He wondered what reaction he'd get if he tried calling Snape by his. Probably sarcasm of an extreme and possibly deadly nature.

"Just because we are working together, Potter, do not expect me to miraculously change my behaviour. You may have grown up. Slightly. Unfortunately for you, I am inclined to make more allowances for my students' ineptness than for that in people I work with."

Well, that was certainly... clear. "Noted. Just don't expect me to change either. How are you, Professor?"

Snape turned back to his examination of the cupboard. "I am as well as can be expected."

"Glad to hear it. Uh, can I do anything?"

"Frankly, no."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just sit here and wait then." He fitted action to words, seating himself on one of the student benches, leaning back slightly against the table, and crossing his arms across his chest and his legs at the ankles.

Snape grunted. Harry took it as belated assent, or at least not something to worry about since he was already sitting.

A moment later, Snape spoke again. "While we are on the subject of working together, it is not necessary for you to continue calling me 'Professor' if we are to be colleagues of a sort."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "What would you like me to call you, then?" He couldn't call him 'Snape' in conversation with the casual ease that Snape himself tossed out 'Potter', and 'Mr Snape' was almost as formal as 'Professor'.

"I wish you to call me by my name, of course," Snape said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "You do know what it is, do you not?"

Harry blinked. "Uh, Severus?" he tried, wondering vaguely if Snape had been reading his mind again.

"Very good, Potter."

"In that case, you really should call me Harry," corrected Harry.

He suspected that the slight movement of the dark hair meant Snape had nodded. "Very well, Harry," said Snape, still calmly plucking jars off the shelf without giving any indication of having noticed the effect his decision had had on Harry.

After about another five minutes, Snape turned away from the cupboard with an armful of jars and vials.

"Er, can I give you a hand with those, Severus?" asked Harry, feeling rather as if he was going to be slapped down for his impudence - twice over!

Snape didn't reply, but instead dumped a rather generous 'half' of his burden into Harry's grasp and walked out. Harry assumed he was supposed to follow and did so. Two minutes later, the professor paused in front of a portrait of a surprisingly lively-looking young woman. Snape cast one glance over his shoulder at Harry, then bent closer to the portrait to whisper the password. The woman smiled brightly at him and a doorway revealed itself in the stonework beside her. Snape muttered something else at the door, opened it and walked into... into his private quarters.

Harry stood there for a moment, shocked by the realisation that he was about to go there too. A snapped "Well, what are you waiting for, Potter?" surprised him out of his reverie.

"Uh, nothing," he said quickly, hurrying forwards.

As he passed the portrait, she smiled encouragingly at him. Startled, he smiled back, noticing that the inscription on the plaque below the picture read 'Silvia, aged 20'. From the resemblance she bore to Snape, she was probably one of his ancestors. She seemed nicer than he would have expected. "Don't worry," she said cheerfully, "he's not nearly as awful as he tries to seem."

Snape gave her a death-glare. She stuck her tongue out at him. Harry blinked.

As he stepped through the door, Harry summoned up the courage to ask, "Who was that?"

"That," said Snape severely, "was my little sister."

"Oh."

Snape led the way through his living room into what appeared to be a private workroom. Harry was taken aback by the strength of the protective wards, but then Snape was making experimental potions in there. Most of the room was almost obsessively neat, apart from the two cauldrons simmering gently on separate benches.

Snape put his collection of ingredients down on another worktable, directing Harry to do the same. Then he began sorting through the things, examining and rejecting one after the other. Harry watched in fascination for a few moments before reminding himself why exactly he was here.

"So, did you manage to come up with anything?" he asked finally.

Snape ignored him for the moment, busy with tipping what appeared to be a random but was in all probability a carefully measured amount of dried… something… into one of the cauldrons and then stirring it. Eventually satisfied with the new colour of the potion, he turned back to Harry, unconsciously taking up 'lecturing' pose and tone. "I'm attempting to make potions which increase resistance to the Cruciatus and the Imperius curses - in this case, I think potions will be more suited to 'prophylaxis', rather than as remedies. However, they should be effective in combination with the Charms you have been working on, which, I gather from your notes are intended as remedies. Of course there have been a few false leads, however, I think I am on the right track now. It will naturally take time to perfect the potions and they will need extensive testing for toxic effects and such. I will also need to... work with you to combine the two disciplines for greatest effect.

"At the moment, I am experimenting with a new idea. I should have some results by tomorrow morning. If you return early tomorrow, I will explain what I have so far. I suggest that we meet up again over the Easter holiday. This will give me time to ascertain whether I actually do have something of value. I would advise you to make your application to the Ministry before then so that we may experiment more fully at that time. I will send you my notes if you inform me of when you intend to do so."

"Well, okay," said Harry, faintly taken aback by the speech. "Where do you think we should meet up?"

"I will require a potions workroom, which I seriously doubt you have at your residence, and considerable privacy, which is in scarce supply here. My house is the only possible option."

Harry desperately wanted to smile. Snape had just invited him into his home!

"As loath as I am to have you there," added Snape grimly, although to Harry's ears it sounded rather as if it was tacked on through sheer habit.

"Great!" said Harry enthusiastically. "I'll expect your owl before the holidays, then. I'll send you a message when I'm planning to speak to the Ministry... maybe you'd like to help?"

"I will offer what assistance I can, however I doubt that the exhortations of a former Death Eater will be of material use."

"You'd be surprised," said Harry with a grin. "I'll come back down here tomorrow?"

"Eight o'clock. Don't be late, Harry."

Harry repressed a shiver as he heard his name in that gorgeous voice for only the second time, and left hurriedly before he could do something that would handily ruin everything.

***

Harry returned home on Sunday evening, after having spent the day being lectured at by Snape. He had found it disturbingly enjoyable, but he was starting to get used to the feeling. The next three weeks went on attempting to produce some sort of coherent presentation that he could begin to think about showing to the Ministry. By Christmas Eve he had begun to seriously think that he had a chance, especially with Snape's work to support his.

He had taken some time out of his preparations to send Christmas cards, of course. After some consideration, he had summoned up his courage and sent a polite one to Snape. He was more than a little surprised when Hedwig returned with one in reply. For a minute he considered the possibility that Snape, disdaining such frivolities as Christmas cards, had sent his back, but he soon discovered that it was in fact a card from Snape, for him. His stubbornly optimistic hormones decided to take it as a good sign, as well as the perfect opportunity to restate that they were very interested in Snape.

***

Harry had been virtually ordered by Molly to spend Christmas Day at The Burrow, and he had felt it better to acquiesce with grace rather than fight a battle he had not the faintest chance of winning. When she mentioned that Alex had been invited, but had been under a prior obligation, he was even able to demonstrate the required amount of regret to lead her to believe that she would not need to parade more young women before him. For the moment.

He arrived at the Weasleys' home on Christmas morning by the same method he had used three months ago, his pockets filled with magically shrunk gifts. From what he'd been told, the house would be very full this year now that almost all of the Weasley 'children' were in permanent relationships. This was confirmed when his knock was answered by Bill's wife, Alison. She was holding a baby and another child peered curiously at him from behind her. From down the hall drifted the sounds of yet more children and the adults that belonged to them. He took a deep breath as he stepped over the threshold, praying for calm. Ever the war, he had not been overly fond of crowds, but he had managed to avoid letting anyone else know about it.

Following Alison into the living room, he greeted the assorted members of the Weasley extended family with Christmas wishes, adding handshakes or hugs as appropriate. Occasionally both, as with Ron and Hermione. Deciding that he could afford to be generous, he even allowed several of the women to kiss him hello without shying away at their approach. Then he resized his presents and distributed them to the appropriate piles, found himself a seat, and forced himself to relax into the conversation. At least, he reminded himself, there were no girls he would be made to talk to this time.

Despite his best efforts, Molly managed to corner him just after lunch.

"So, Harry," she began. "It's been a while since I saw you last."

"Yes."

"Ron tells me you've been spending some time with Alexia," she continued, without even a pretence at beating around the bush.

"Quite a bit, actually," said Harry, only stretching the truth a little. He  _had_  spent a lot of time with her, considering how little he spent with other people. "Of course, we owl too, because we're both quite busy."

"Oh! I'm glad to hear that."

"Mmm. I enjoy her company a lot." He didn't even have to be a little free with the truth about that.

"Good. I thought you two might get along."

"We do. Thank you for introducing us." There, that ought to be a sop to her matchmaking tendencies. Who knew, perhaps it would even make her let up for a bit.

"You're very welcome. Although, Harry, the best thank-you would be if the two of you could make an announcement in the near future." Well, maybe not.

Harry repressed a sigh, instead making a noncommittal noise.

Molly was just beginning to launch into an exhortation on the necessity for a 'real job' when there was a minor crisis: Charlie's eldest daughter attempted to make off with the present Harry had given to Fred and Angelina's latest arrival. Seeing her distracted by attempting to make peace in her grandmotherly role, Harry made his escape with intense relief.

After Christmas dinner, Harry was finally permitted to leave, but only once he had promised to visit again sometime in the next month. He set off for his home with a sigh of relief, and pockets filled again with gifts. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the company of the Weasleys - they were, after all, the closest thing to a true family of his own that he'd known, especially now that Hermione was almost a part of them too. However, the house was really a little too small to hold all of them and to someone like him, used to spending the vast majority of his time alone apart from the virtually non-existent company of his house-elves - well, it made him feel a little claustrophobic, was all.

He made it back home without any major incidents or delays, a virtual miracle considering how crowded Diagon Alley was that night. It seemed it was  _the_  place to be seen, if you were a young, boisterous Christmas reveller. Harry shocked himself more than a little when he realised that was how he described them in his mind. Not so very long ago, people of that sort of age had been his peers and friends.

***

A few days into the new year, Harry finally decided his presentation was as good as he was going to get it. He Apparated into the London offices of the Ministry of Magic, intent on getting his way. With him shamelessly throwing around his fame and reputation, it took him a matter of minutes to secure an appointment with the head of the Department of Hexes (Monitoring Unit), and he had been promised that Will Alcott, the new Minister for Magic, would be there as well. He informed the clerk that Snape would also be present, and enjoyed the look of mingled shock and intense curiosity on his face as he wondered why on earth Saviour of the Wizarding World Harry Potter and ex-Death Eater (and Hero of the Wizarding World) Severus Snape could need to book an hour-long appointment with that particular department. Harry made his escape before he could be cornered by any one of a number of employees of the Ministry who might want to speak to him.

On his way to meet Alex again, Harry stopped in at the Owl Post Office in Diagon Alley to send Snape the date and time of the appointment, enclosing his summary of the planned presentation. He then made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, spotted his friend at a corner table and slid into the seat opposite her, hoping that no one had spotted him.

"You're late," she informed him.

"Sorry, I had some business to attend to. Then I had to avoid a crowd baying for my blood."

"Right. And they're not in here because?"

"I'm just so good at evading capture."

She gave him a sceptical look as he smiled winningly at her, turning on the charm. "Don't you believe me?"

"Frankly, no."

"Sensible of you." They grinned at each other. Harry asked Alex to order for him so that he could avoid speaking to the waitress, and she agreed with a put-upon sigh. They caught up with the developments in each other's lives while eating, then they got down to business.

"Harry, you need to make a decision."

"Hmm?" he said around one last mouthful of something really quite delicious.

" _You_  need to decide what you're going to tell Molly about us. She's going to start getting suspicious about what our relationship really is unless she gets at least some 'proof' that we're involved with each other.

"So, are you going to admit that we're just friends and not interested in each other in that way, or are we going to give her some proof?" She laid down her cutlery, pushed away her plate, and fixed him with a penetrating look. "I don't really mind either way, after all it's not like my love life is exactly on fire at the moment, so it's up to you."

"Uh… are you sure you want to do that? I mean, you know you don't have to, right? I like being your friend, and I don't want to make you pretend to be my, er, girlfriend or whatever if it's going to screw up your plans."

"No problem, Harry. Although I may ask you to go away if I do find someone… interesting." She smirked at him.

"As long as you do the same for me."

"Of course. Well, I guess that means you're taking option two?"

"Yeah, I think so, if you're really sure you want to do that for me. Anything that gets Molly off my back a bit longer is good. I really need to be able to think straight for a little while."

"My pleasure. Besides, it means she won't be trying to match-make for me either."

"Thanks. Uh, any ideas on what we're going to do?"

"Well, anything too blatant will make her suspicious. She  _knows_  both of us too well to be anything except sceptical if we start kissing in public or whatever. So, let's start small. Take me out somewhere without hiding in the shadows while you do it. Preferably a wizarding location, so she can see it in the newspapers rather than having us tell her."

"Okay, I can do that. Anything in a good cause."

"Are you implying that it's not enjoyable to spend time with me?"

The conversation degenerated quite rapidly from there on.

***

Three weeks later, Harry was waiting outside the public Floo in Diagon Alley, attempting once more to keep himself from fidgeting nervously. It was the day of the presentation, and Snape had arranged to meet him here beforehand - it would be better, he had said, to present a united front. Harry wasn't quite sure whether it was the prospect of having to make his case to the people who could put his project to an end, or of seeing Snape again which was making him so nervous.

As the fire flared green yet again, he reminded himself to take a deep breath. It wouldn't do for the man to see him so flustered and get the wrong impression. Even if it was the right impression after all.

He sighed as the arrivals turned out to be a harassed-looking young man with a child in tow, probably a younger sibling from the irate glare he bestowed on it. Harry returned his attention to the flames, telling himself that if nothing else, he couldn't stay in this heightened state of… anticipation… for an indefinite amount of time. He forced himself calm, and forced his gaze elsewhere. Looking at the fireplace wasn't helping at all.

Eventually he managed to interest himself in the people passing by in the street below. So much so, in fact, that he didn't notice the man coming up behind him until he spoke.

"Harry. I trust you haven't been waiting long."

He started and turned around hurriedly, looking up into Snape's face. "Oh, not too long," he replied finally, after reminding himself that it wasn't good manners to gawp as if the other wizard was a strange and mysterious creature. One that he'd been hunting for years. Then he had to remind himself not to blush, and almost missed Snape's polite reply.

"My apologies, I was held up by an over-eager student."

"Ah." Harry was pleased to notice that he was as eloquent as ever around his former Potions master.

Snape's lips did that funny quirking thing that they'd done the last few times Harry had seen him. He ignored it, and instead said, "We'd better go. Minister Alcott's always early."

"I know." Snape's tone was neutral, and gave no indication of  _how_  he knew. It didn't need to - Harry already knew all about the lengthy interrogation that Snape had gone through to explain his joining of the Death Eaters, and his later training of Harry in a less than completely legal manner.

"The arrivals platform at the Ministry, then?"

"Yes."

They Disapparated at the same instant.

At the Ministry's main offices, Harry's name and face got them past the first few lines of defence without even needing to mention that they had an appointment. They had apparently been expected. He felt a strange combination of relief that there weren't any difficulties so far, and disappointment, or perhaps sadness, that even here he got treatment different from anyone else. Snape's presence beside him, muttering under his breath about the shocking lack of security and their willingness to believe Harry was who he said he was, was a pleasant relief from the almost overwhelming welcome that was offered to him.

Eventually they made it to an area where both of them were checked more thoroughly, quickly cleared, and then directed to a meeting room, with fifteen minutes to spare to set up. Harry got out his notes and other paraphernalia, then fidgeted nervously once more with them, his robes, and anything else that came to his attention. This presentation, after all, would determine if he could proceed with what had been in essence his life's work for the last year and a half. Snape produced two glass vials, set them on the table, then leaned against the wall and watched Harry's tense actions with distinct amusement on his face.

"Calm down, Harry," he said finally. "If for nothing else, then because you need them to believe you're steady enough to be trusted with the Unforgivables."

"Easy for you to say, you've done this before!"

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say  _Yes, and those weren't exactly the best circumstances, now were they?_

Harry blushed. "Oh. Sorry." He sat down with his notes and forced himself to relax.

Snape's lips quirked again as he took the seat beside him and engaged him in some small talk about which would be the best order to put their arguments, and exactly when would be the best time for Snape to say his piece. Naturally they'd already hashed this out in a fireplace conference, but it did the job in giving Harry something to concentrate on apart from the fact that the Minister for Magic would soon be walking in to seal his fate.

Somehow he managed to get through the presentation without making a fool of himself. He doubted that he would ever be able to understand it, and just accepted it with gratitude as he took his seat once more with a quiet yet fervent sigh of relief. He and Snape had traded off, Harry beginning by outlining his reasons for starting the project, mentioning his early research while skimming speedily over the not quite legal aspects of some of it. Soon he came to the place where he could hand over to Snape with more than a hint of relief. Snape gave his opinion and spoke about his beginning the search to create useful Potions, then Harry had to stand up again to give the conclusion.

For a moment or two after they had finished, the room was quiet, the various Ministry officials making notes or eyeing the two of them speculatively. Eventually Minister Alcott spoke.

"Thank you both for that most interesting presentation. I think I can say that we will not be refusing your request right away, as it is undoubtedly in a good cause. If there is anyone we can trust with such delicate research, I cannot think of two more worthy people." The other officials nodded in agreement. "However, I'm sure you understand that we will need time to deliberate about whether such research is really needed now, and if it is, what would be the appropriate parameters."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Snape beat him to it. "Certainly, Minister. We will of course abide by your decision."

"I think you can expect an owl in a week or two with our decision."

"Thank you, Minister."

Harry decided it was about time he said something, but all he could think of to say was, "Thanks."

They made their excuses and left.

Once they were in the corridor outside the conference room, the door safely closed behind them, Harry turned to Snape. "Well, I thought that went well, didn't you?"

Snape did that eyebrow-quirking thing. "As well as could be expected, I suppose."

"Always optimistic, aren't you?"

"Optimists are generally disappointed. I, on the other hand, expect the worst, and am usually not surprised."

"That's an awfully gloomy view of things."

"Have you by some chance forgotten who you're speaking to?"

"Good point."

Snape gave him the expression that meant any other person would have been smiling. "I will return to Hogsmeade from here," he said as they walked towards the departures platform.

"Oh. I thought you might, you know, like to come back for a cup of tea or something."

"Not on this occasion, I'm afraid. I have to take detention in the evening."

"Ah. Well, I'll see you sometime, then?"

"I will send you a message as to when will be a convenient time to meet to continue our researches, as well as directions to my home for the Easter holidays."

"Now who's being optimistic?"

Snape gave him another of those almost-smiles, and took a couple of extra steps to put him further in front. "Goodbye, Harry," he said as he set foot on the departures platform.

"Goodbye, Severus," replied Harry. Snape disappeared and he prepared to Apparate himself back to Diagon Alley.

***

The Ministry owl reached them both a week after the meeting. They had been given permission to test their ideas on small animals - all they had applied for, to avoid disturbing the officials. Snape was of the opinion that if they could prove it worked on those creatures, then they would be given more leeway. Seeing as he had far more experience with official magical research projects, Harry decided to trust him.

Two days after the verdict came, Harry took Alex out for dinner to celebrate. They decided on a restaurant in London currently very fashionable with the more wealthy, younger section of the wizarding population. He couldn't say that he enjoyed himself, exactly - the constant whispers from the other patrons, and the unabashed stares of the waiters, not to mention the dozen or more requests for autographs saw to that. Still, having Alex there to complain to and laugh with did make it slightly more bearable than he'd expected.

However, the dinner did at least fulfil the purpose they'd intended. The next day, their photographs - and Alex's name - were splashed all over the front page of the Daily Prophet and other, less respectable, wizarding newspapers, with massive headlines screaming 'Boy Who Lived Finds True Love', and other such absurd statements.

Later that day, he got an owl from Molly, saying how glad she was that he and Alex were at last comfortable enough in their 'relationship' to be seen in public together. In his reply, he was careful to say nothing that might disabuse her of that view. Rather, he told her that he and Alex would most likely be seen together in public rather more often from now on, which had the distinct advantage of being the truth.

While they'd been having dinner, despite the eavesdroppers, Harry had told Alex in great detail all about the presentation, and how it had gone. He covered what everyone had said and did, especially Snape, because she too had of course been taught by him during her time at Hogwarts.

When he was finished, she'd turned to him and said "You're attracted to him, aren't you?"

To which he'd been forced to confess, not exactly against his will, that yes, yes he was, and that he had been for a long time. Of course, it had faded while he hadn't seen him, but it had come back almost full strength at their meeting and had only grown when he'd spent time with him again.

"What do you plan to do about it?" she'd asked.

He'd had to admit that he really had no idea. But now that the idea was real, now that he'd confessed it to someone else, he couldn't help thinking of their upcoming meeting over the Easter holiday in a light that was not entirely businesslike.

***

Three days after the Ministry's owl, and the dinner with Alex, Harry received a letter from Snape. In it, the man announced that he would be arriving at Harry's home next weekend in order to make plans for the Easter holiday. Although there was no hint of a request in it, Harry sent back a reply saying that he would be happy to see Snape again, and that he would be free on Saturday evening. He didn't actually have any plans at all before then either, but he thought it was probably best not to appear  _too_  desperate for the man's company.

Harry spent the rest of the week fidgeting when he wasn't otherwise occupied. Evening meant dinner. Usually. But this was Snape, and you never could tell what anything meant with him. He ordered the house-elves to make one fit for company, but not to interrupt him as they usually did - they'd learnt soon that without someone to remind him to eat, he often forgot. He didn't care to explain that eating alone wasn't exactly an appealing prospect, no matter how good the meal, or how much he had otherwise come to love his privacy.

On Saturday morning he unlocked the Floo, and then dithered about, rearranging already perfectly neat objects, trying to read but giving up after a few pages, walking halfway to the garden on a momentary impulse to play Quidditch before deciding that he'd rather not after all. By five o'clock, he was perilously close to a nervous breakdown. Admitting his interest to someone else - and to himself - hadn't helped at all. He'd just thrown himself into his chair and picked up his book again - for the fifth time - when the flames in the fireplace turned green.

Harry hurriedly opened the book, and tried to look surprised as Snape stepped into the room, brushing himself off.

"Do you  _ever_  clean your flue, Harry?" he asked in a tone more of curiosity than of disgust, scattering soot all over Harry's carpet but not having much effect on the state of his robe. He sighed, produced his wand and cleaned himself off. After a moment, he frowned and flicked his wand again at the rug.

"I, er, don't let the house-elves in here very often," Harry replied, too surprised to dissemble. "Hi."

Snape flicked a glance at him. "I can see that you don't. That's a good book, though I hadn't thought you would find it so. What do you think so far?"

"Uh," said Harry. He'd opened it towards the end in his surprise, but he'd managed a bare five pages earlier. "It's interesting." That was a fairly safe word, as long as Snape didn't decide that was an invitation to discuss it. What a time to discover Snape's fondness for literature.

"Well, business before pleasure, I suppose," Snape said, and Harry breathed a carefully-concealed sigh of relief. "We shall have to discuss it later."

Harry gave a strictly mental whimper. Maybe Snape would forget, if the planning took long enough. But he was supposed to be impressing the man - and not showing that he was trying - and if he got caught in such a stupid thing, he wouldn't accomplish either.

He firmly resisted the fleeting impulse to beat his head against the nearest hard surface, if only because it wouldn't do anything to help his case. Business, that was what they were supposed to be discussing.

Although they had been corresponding by owl on a regular basis, both of them had ideas that they preferred to expound in person. The discussion went back and forth, picking up speed and fervour. After the first half-hour, Harry managed to lose his nervous tension in the more mental stimulation of attempting to integrate their separate work so far and make a plan, much more than he had in fact expected to be able to. That chance meeting in the Potions supplier's those few short months ago might well have been one of the best things ever to happen to his work, if not to his personal life. Or perhaps the latter too, at that. He had been having more regular communication with Snape since that day than with any other person he knew. He supposed they might even be classified as 'friends'. He dragged his mind back on track, to Snape's exposition of the possible benefits of dragon scales in the Imperius counter-potion.

Harry was startled out of his attempt to explain yet another of his pet theories - a speech perhaps more akin to thinking aloud than anything else - by the realisation that the clock on his mantelpiece was chiming. Odd, it didn't usually do that. Looking up, he realised that the hands were pointing at 'half past dinnertime'. "I think that's a hint," he said, glancing at his Muggle style wristwatch, which claimed it was coming up to nine. "Wow, it's late," he said, and then gave himself a mental kick for sounding so utterly inane.

"Indeed," replied Snape. "Do you intend to follow the clock's advice?"

"Actually, I am hungry. Um. If you'll join me?"

"Of course." Harry waited for the sarcastic addition, which never came. He blinked in bewilderment, and jumped as Snape brushed past him. "I do assume you have a dining room in this place?" Ah. There it was.

He smiled at Snape. "This way." He led the way to the smaller dining room, and the house-elves produced a meal. He didn't remember asking them to make something in particular - he hadn't been thinking in that much detail - but the simple, tasty chicken fillet and salad were just what he would have ordered if he had been that prepared. They slipped surprisingly easily into a friendly conversation, and Harry even managed to turn the expected book discussion onto ones he had read. He thought he held his own quite well; at least, he thought Snape seemed just a touch impressed. Somewhat to Harry's surprise, their conversation didn't even show the slightest signs of disintegrating into a less civil discussion at any point.

As the main course vanished, to be replaced with dessert, the latest of their topics of conversation petered gently out. After a quick look at his watch, Harry decided it was probably time to resume 'business'. "So now we know what we're planning to do. Well, more or less, anyway. When d'you think would be the best time to do it? And how long will we need?"

"I believe Hermione's wedding is soon, is it not?" Harry blinked, and then remembered that since they were colleagues, it wasn't really all that weird for him to be calling her by name.

"Er, yes," replied Harry, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"You will, no doubt, be required by the happy couple until that time?"

Oh. "Yes. So, after that?"

"That would be best. Two weeks should suffice, for this first time. Of course, I suspect we will have to work much more closely when our separate areas come closer to completion."

That sounded awfully like a repeated invitation. Harry tried to think of something sensible to say to cover his surprise, preferably a question. "Are you going to be at the wedding?"

"I have been invited, and I suppose I am obligated to attend. Hermione has invited all of the staff - and, I understand, some of the older pupils."

Harry hadn't heard that. Pupils - older pupils - was a bad thought. Especially if they were  _girl_ pupils. By some miracle he'd managed to avoid most of them on his visit to Hogwarts, but if they were going to be at the wedding… He told himself it would be most undignified - and not at all conducive to his plans - if he were to whimper in front of Snape.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Snape frowned and peered at him. Harry reminded himself that concern was not necessarily an indication of anything more than friendliness.

"Oh. Just fine," he replied, lifting his wine glass and sipping. A flimsy shield was better than none. On second thought, he downed the rest of the liquid - one of the better vintages in his cellars - and poured himself another. Snape looked decidedly sceptical, but turned the topic back to the plans for their little research-meeting.

After they'd finished eating, and decided that they'd discussed everything necessary, Snape took his leave. "I shall see you at the wedding, then," he said, before Harry could make a similar comment. Harry nodded dumbly, trying to make sense of it. First indicating that he'd like Harry to visit more than once - even if it was only on business, - and now coming awfully close to saying he wanted to see him sooner - at least, in a Snapish way. "Goodbye," said Snape, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece as Harry tried to assure himself that it all had a perfectly platonic connotation.

Harry managed a reasonably normal "Goodbye," as Snape stepped into the fire and directed himself to Hogwarts.

 

Harry Apparated into Ron and Hermione's garden in the late morning, three days before the wedding. The back door was ajar so he let himself in, only to find the place in uproar. He stopped the first person he saw rushing by - a redheaded teenage girl, probably a Weasley cousin of some description - before he thought. "What is it?" the girl snapped, before she realised who it was. Her mouth fell open and she nearly dropped the pile of - tablecloths? - she was carrying. "Oh! Harry Potter!" He saw he had made a tactical mistake in choosing her.

"Where's Ron? Or Hermione?" he asked brusquely before she could attack him.

"Er," she said, still gawping, and added, "I'm Sarah." An answer which had nothing to do with his question and which he therefore wasn't really interested in.

"That's nice. Ron? Or Hermione? Where?" he tried, hoping one-word sentences might penetrate her skull.

"Oh. Um."

"Yes?" He found himself wishing for the ability to bestow one of Snape's looks of impending doom.

"Their bedroom. The kitchen, with Aunt Molly."

"Thank you, excuse me." He hurried away just as she opened her mouth to say something else.

"Wait!" she called, but he pretended not to have heard her and moved quickly into the next room. He took the stairs two steps at a time, head lowered as he passed two people coming down. Hopefully Ron would be a better protector from Molly than Hermione had been. He hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing here. Oh yes, they'd both asked him to come. For moral support, they said. Well, that and the wedding rehearsal, and he kind of had to be there, as he was best man. Honestly, they were the ones who'd decided to get married - even though he suspected Molly had more than a little to do with that decision - they should be capable of supporting themselves.

Well, perhaps he wasn't quite being fair, with that thought about Molly. Ron and Hermione had been talking about getting married even in their last year at Hogwarts, although they'd gone off the topic for a few years between then and now. No, it was only he that Molly seemed to want to press-gang into holy matrimony. He wondered if it was going to be possible to avoid her for the whole day. Perhaps he could hide under Ron's bed?

The bedroom door was wide open, and inside Harry could see a sea of red heads, all chattering away. All six Weasley brothers turned to look at him as he tapped on the door, the older five pausing only momentarily in their flood of tips. Having all gone through this already, they considered themselves in the perfect position to give advice. By the looks of things, among them they'd managed to work Ron into a fine state. One comment from Percy that Harry caught as he approached actually seemed perfectly calculated  _not_  to soothe him.

"Hi," he said, stepping in. The room was a decent size, but with that many bodies in it, it seemed crowded, not to mention very warm. "How's everything?"

There was a general chorus of "Good, you?" except from Ron. He gave Harry a pleading look, and said, "This lot are driving me mad. Help! I've been a good friend all these years, right?"

Harry was about to say something about it being his own fault when the twins interrupted. "Don't worry about him, Harry, old chap."

"No, don't waste the energy. Mum's been wanting to speak to you," Fred - he thought - said, with a distinctly evil grin. The others' expressions wore equal amusement. Mother-pecked, the lot of them, and revelling in it being his turn to suffer. Harry glared.

"Yep. You'll be where Ron is soon enough. She'll see to that, and you'll need everything you have then," agreed George.

"Your Alex would make anyone a good wife, don't you think? You'll have to be careful, or someone's going to snap her up from right under your nose."

Harry cringed, and wondered if Molly had fed Bill that last line verbatim. Hiding under the bed was definitely beginning to look  _very_  attractive.

"Don't worry, Harry," Charlie said. "You know you're always welcome to come and stay with me and Katerina. Besides, she has a lovely cousin - practically a sister, really - who she's sure you'd love to meet."

Harry decided he really couldn't get away with punching him. "Ron," he said plaintively. "Is the space under your bed free?"

The six of them had the sheer unmitigated gall to laugh at him.

Other than that the wedding rehearsal went more or less without a hitch - except the one they were all there for, of course. The Weasleys' garden was a good replacement for the church, and Ron managed to get through his lines almost perfectly though he'd been stumbling over them for days. Fred, standing in for the priest, was appropriately solemn, although a mischievous twinkle occasionally escaped when he saw the expression on his youngest brother's face. Harry got his own back, a little, when Ron began to lead Hermione back down the aisle. He leaned in and whispered, "Just think, in a few days you'll be doing this for real. A married man," and watched with gratification as Ron stumbled over nothing.

A shadow of a smirk lingered on his face right until Molly finally caught him during the late lunch that followed. She cornered him by the buffet table and questioned him until he felt nearly wrung out, on all aspects of his life in general and why he hadn't brought Alex in particular. In the end, desperate to escape the interrogation, he told her that he'd be bringing Alex as his escort to the wedding itself. They had sort-of agreed to that already, after all, and she did have her own invitation, and had told him she was intending to go - 'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' had been her exact words. Then he pretended that Ron was trying to get his attention, and, miraculously, Molly let him go.

For hours, he made various attempts at small talk - some more successful than others - and met more Weasley cousins than he had ever wanted to be stuck in a garden with, not to mention a few Granger relatives. He thanked the deity of small mercies that at least the weather meant they didn't all have to try to cram into the house. That would have been truly intolerable.

It was past six before he could finally beg for mercy, and make his escape. At home, he scribbled off a note to Alex and then collapsed onto his sofa, utterly exhausted. At least he wouldn't be needed again until the wedding itself. At least he had that much consolation.

When he opened his wardrobe to get his pyjamas, he came face to face with the new robes he would be wearing, delivered just that morning. He shuddered, grabbed his nightclothes, and shut it again as firmly if he'd just been confronted by a Boggart.

***

He woke to his incredibly irritating alarm at a horrifyingly early hour on Wedding Day. He had no idea how it had acquired giant capitals of fire in his mind, especially since it wasn't his own. But then again, his two best friends were getting married today, and it was probably the closest he would ever get to having one. Considering what he'd seen of the circus theirs was turning into, he wasn't sure it was too much of a loss.

So, today he would: see Snape - good; have to stand in front of people (including Snape) and make a fool of himself - bad; have to make conversation with those same people - bad, except for the part with Snape; spend the day with Alex - good; be cornered by Molly again - bad; and take part in 'the happiest day' of his best friends' lives - good, sort of. On balance - well, it didn't quite balance, especially since he most likely wouldn't get to spend much time at all with Ron, Hermione, Alex  _or_ Snape, but it was probably too late to back out now.

He sighed, and forced himself out of bed and into the shower. Cold first, to wake him up despite his near-desperate desire to go back to bed and claim he'd overslept. Then warm, in an attempt to soothe over-tense muscles. What he wouldn't give for a massage right now... The rehearsal had been bad enough, and this, with an expanded guest-list, promised to be incomparably worse.

He wondered, yet again, what on earth had possessed Ron to make him best man, when he had several perfectly serviceable brothers. Then again, Hermione had probably had something to do with that decision too. Fred or George - maybe even Bill or Charlie - would probably have tried some spectacular trick, and Ron would have vetoed Percy. As he begun dragging on his robes, attempting to make himself presentable, he told himself that at least Hermione's maid of honour was someone he'd met before, rather liked, and who hadn't shown the least inclination of hero-worshipping him, meaning he would probably be able to get through the required dance without disgracing himself. Small mercies were all that would get him through the day, he had begun to suspect long ago. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it pointed to 'Time to feel sorry for yourself'. He grimaced, and allowed himself a few more minutes of wallowing.

Finally, he Apparated to Alex's home, and she only kept him waiting a few minutes while she hunted out her camera. He gave her the required compliment, and meant it. She smiled her thanks and gave him one in return that he shrugged off uncomfortably. Then he offered his arm as gallantly as he could and Apparated them both to the side-room in the church set aside for just that purpose. They stepped hurriedly away from the Apparation spot and separated, Alex to see if Molly needed anything, Harry to find Ron.

This time Ron was alone, except for Bill. Presumably everyone else had been chased away already.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron as he entered. Bill got up from his seat and left, exchanging nods with Harry. He had responsibilities of his own, probably. Molly had made sure everyone involved in the family had  _something_ to do. "God, look at me. I'm shaking."

Somehow Harry found he didn't have a snide comment to make, something to lighten the mood. "You want this, don't you?"

"Well, yes! Of course! It's just..."

"No 'just' about it. You'll be fine. It'll be great. You know that both of you have been waiting for this for years, and we're all here to make sure it goes well. It's going to be everything you've thought being married could be. You know, I'm actually a little jealous of you both, that you've got each other, and you love each other so much, and you can show everyone, and share it with everyone like this." Wow, he'd never really thought he was much good at pep talks before. Maybe all those pre-battlefield speeches, required of him by his position almost as mascot to Dumbledore's forces in the fight against Voldemort, had been good for something after all. Practice for pre-wedding motivational speaking.

Ron blinked at him. "Well. I suppose. Yeah. I'm just being an idiot about it. I can do this."

"That's the spirit," said Harry, as encouragingly as he could manage, trying not to think of the words he had to say. The speech he'd have to give, later. He searched for a change of subject before Ron could fall apart again.

"Although," said Ron thoughtfully, and now his smile was distinctly wicked, "I think I won't tell Mum about that little speech of yours. It might give her even  _more_ of the wrong ideas."

"Don't you dare!" Harry exclaimed, and decided to change the subject. "Have you seen Hermione's robe?"

"Nah. She and Mum both nearly had fits when I asked. Y'know, I still don't get how superstitious Hermione is half the time, even though she says it's all silly if you ask her about it."

Harry ignored the rambling, though it wasn't a great sign. "The robe's wonderful. She's going to look great in it."

"She always looks great," said Ron, a sappy grin on his face now. Harry told himself that was the result he'd been trying to get, and virtuously refrained from mentioning all the times Ron hadn't seemed to think so while they'd been at school.

They chatted quietly for a while. Mostly Ron talked, generally reminiscing about the eleven years they'd known each other. An eventful collection they had been, indeed. Occasionally, when he seemed about to slip into nervous silence again, Harry prompted him, recalling incidents that seemed in some ways incredibly far away, but in others so close. Ron had gone back to talking of the events of their first year - "I can't believe what I  _said_! Suppose that's what you get for judging by first impressions. Guess it's all turned out for the best, though," - when there was a knock on the door and George - designated runner - poked his head round without waiting for a reply.

"Mum says you should come up now. It's showtime, boys, and the big top is waiting!"

Harry sighed, Ron grimaced, and they gathered themselves. Harry straightened his robes, thankful that a spell kept them from crumpling. Ron tugged at his collar as if it was suddenly too tight, then ran his hand nervously through his hair. "Do I, um, look all right?" he asked.

Harry looked at him, as close to resplendent as he would ever get in his formal dress robes. "I suppose you'll pass," he said with a grin, and Ron returned it with barely a hint of nerves.

"Guess what?" said George in the tones of one about to reveal an earth-shattering secret, as he escorted them down the corridor - not that they needed the guidance - "There are reporters here! Well, one, but..."

Harry told himself firmly that he wasn't allowed to faint. There was probably a perfectly logical reason why there was a reporter at the wedding of Ron Weasley, junior partner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, to Hermione Granger, assistant professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. And it had nothing at all to do with the fact that Harry Potter, ex-Saviour of the Wizarding World ™, former Quidditch hero, and famous recluse, was the best man. Of course not. The reporter probably wouldn't even be hanging around to hear his speech. He hastily began mentally rewriting it.

In virtually no time at all they were standing at the front of the church. Harry looked down the aisle, waiting for Hermione's grand entrance, and tried not to see all the people facing him, the familiar faces vastly outnumbered by strangers.  _They're not looking at you, they're looking at Ron_ , he told himself. That didn't work, so he tried berating himself.  _You idiot, not everything in the world has to do with you!_  That one wasn't much good either, although it helped a bit. Despite himself, he scanned the crowd. He caught sight of Alex, seated towards the front. She was half-smiling, and he thought it was at him. Then his eye snagged on black hair, black robes, and sallow skin almost directly behind her. Snape was there, as he had said he would be. Harry's nervousness doubled, and he was thankful again that he had next to nothing to do here but be a supportive presence for Ron.

A moment later, the organ began to play the familiar Wedding March, and the big doors at the end of the aisle swung slowly open. Hermione and her father appeared in the arch of the doorway, and a few camera flashes went off. Harry had been right - she did look great in the elegant, flowing bridal robe. As she approached, he could see lines of tension in her face, but her eyes practically sparkled.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of voices and actions. After all, Harry had seen - and heard - it all before, not to mention being talked through it several times, so he stood behind Ron, slightly to his right, and let it all flow right by him, his mind wandering where it would. Before he knew it, it was all over, and the Happy Couple were walking down the aisle hand-in-hand, receiving congratulations and being showered in confetti. He and Maia, the maid of honour, followed them a good few metres behind, getting somewhat caught in the crossfire. No one seemed to be looking at him, and he felt distinctly relieved.

Then it was off to the reception lunch with them. Luckily, the guest list for the lunch was somewhat thinned down from that for the ceremony itself, so Harry didn't have to face the horde of pupils he had been dreading since Snape had mentioned them.

Harry made his speech, full of the required praise of both concerned, and meant every word. He managed to slip in a few funny stories too; some of them were mildly embarrassing, and he quite enjoyed Ron's fiery blush when he realised that Harry was going to tell everyone about his more foolish moments when he'd been trying to work up the courage to ask Hermione to go out with him. Harry had been preparing the speech long enough that even the reporter's camera going off in his face didn't throw him off too much, and he managed to get through it without fudging anything. With a sigh of relief, he made the first toast, and sat down again as Hermione's father got up to make his own speech. Alex leaned over and whispered "Congratulations," as he began scanning the crowd to see if he could spot Snape again.

There he was, seated next to Professor Vector - his escort? - and some people Harry recognised as assorted relatives. He looked distinctly grumpy, and Harry smiled. His expression and body language clearly said 'I may be obliged to be here, but no one said I had to enjoy it'. He wondered how long he ought to wait before trying to catch Snape's eye. After all, they were only supposed to be business associates, if of an odd sort, and most people didn't even know that.

He sat through the meal with as much patience as he could muster. At least, by virtue of being seated at the main table, he knew all the people around him and didn't have to try to make conversation with perfect strangers. Unlike Vector, who seemed to be attempting it without any aid from Snape, eating in stony silence. Harry rather pitied the others at Snape's table, who kept casting the professor worried looks in between bouts of stilted conversation.

Absorbed in watching the man as surreptitiously as he could while not ignoring whatever the others were talking about, he was taken by surprise when Alex elbowed him under cover of the table. "What?" he muttered, turning slightly and frowning.

"Stop drooling," she whispered, with a grin and a meaningful glance in the direction of Snape's table.

"I am  _not_  drooling!" he replied indignantly, before realising that if she had noticed, he was at least being  _much_  more obvious than he had intended.

"Whatever you say, Harry." Alex turned back to her discussion with Charlie, seated on her other side, before Harry could come up with a scathing enough retort.

After lunch came the dancing. As he watched Ron and Hermione take the traditional first dance, to the strains of some wistful love song, Harry found himself wondering if Snape danced. The song began to fade to a close, and Harry went to find Maia. They were supposed to dance too now, and for a moment he had a flashback to the Yule Ball of his fourth year. At least he wasn't supposed to be the centre of attention in this one, and, thank goodness, Maia was no Padma Patil.

As the band began to play again, Harry led her out to join Ron and Hermione. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled from the weight of all the gazes on him, and he resisted the urge to look around. The dance was not nearly the torment it might have been, the song mercifully short, and Maia talked just enough to distract his attention from the fact that he felt horribly exposed in the middle of all those people. At the end of the dance, he relinquished Maia's hand to her fiancé, and gladly left the dance floor. Other couples were already beginning to fill it, which he saw with some relief, as Alex had insisted on having a few dances too. He had to agree, especially as he knew Molly would be watching them. For the moment, though, she seemed to be enjoying dancing with Dean, so Harry decided to go Snape-hunting.

He slipped through the crowd, evading conversations to the best of his ability, occasionally being drawn into one for a few minutes before he could make his excuses, trying not to look too purposeful just in case Snape happened to be watching him. Which, of course, he wouldn't be, but there was no harm in being just a touch paranoid, now was there? Especially not when Snape was involved.

Ah, there Snape was, standing by the wall, his arms crossed in front of him, and looking, if anything, even less pleased to be there than he had during dinner. Harry slipped up next to him, and Snape feigned not to notice. "Not much of one for dancing, I take it?" Harry said, looking out at the dancers rather than up at Snape as he quite wanted to.

"No. You, on the other hand, seemed to be having quite a good time dancing with that young woman." Snape still hadn't looked at him, instead directing his question to the empty air before him.

"I see my acting skills have improved more than I thought, if I can fool you."

"In that case, now that your obligation is fulfilled, I assume I will continue to be subjected to your company?" Snape didn't sound as horrified at the prospect as he perhaps should have.

"Well, Alex wanted a couple of dances, but apart from that, I'm afraid so."

"Ah. Alex?" Now Snape cast him a look, which Harry pretended he hadn't seen.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate. The idea that there had perhaps been a hint of jealousy in Snape's tone was probably - most likely - wishful thinking, but if it was real, there was no harm in encouraging it just a little.

"Hm. And are you ready to begin work next week?"

"Of course! I'm looking forward to it." Indeed he was, for a whole  _host_  of reasons. Not least among which was the research they would be doing, but there were some others just as appealing.

"Ah." Snape's voice lowered, and he spoke almost to himself. "Do you know, it still feels most unnatural to be contemplating admitting a student into my home. Inviting him to stay under my roof. And that it should be you, of all people. Strange, is it not?"

"Very. But not in a bad way, I hope?"

"You have shown rather more aptitude - and initiative, not to mention potential as a colleague - than I had expected from your first years at school, yes."

Harry absorbed the sideways compliment. Compliments, even. "And you've been rather more approachable than I'd ever have thought you could be, at first. So I guess it all evens out in the end."

"Perhaps it does." They looked at each other in a moment of sudden sympathy. There was a spark of - something - in those dark eyes, and Harry felt a sudden lurch of desire. He was quite glad that Snape had, characteristically, chosen a shadowed corner in which to lurk.

Perhaps fortunately, the moment was broken by Alex's voice. "Harry," she said, "sorry to disturb you, but I thought I might claim that dance."

Harry tore his eyes away from the weight of Snape's gaze. "Sure," he said, and then dithered a bit, wondering if he should make introductions, or something. It was probably the polite thing to do, but it was distinctly weird to think about introducing his fake-girlfriend, or something, to his crush, or lust-object, or whatever Snape was to him. Friend, at least. Besides, they already knew each other. Well, maybe that was a good place to start.

"You know Severus - er, Professor Snape, of course, Alex," he said, looking slightly uncomfortably from one to the other.

"Of course," Alex murmured, eyeing Snape with reasonably well-concealed interest.

"Miss Sterani," Snape replied, inclining his head. "I believe I remember you." He returned her scrutiny, even more cautiously.

"Only for good reasons, I hope."

"Naturally." Snape even smiled a little as he gave the required response. Well, the corner of his mouth lifted, which Harry had come to read as a smile. He repressed a sigh at the knowledge that Snape would never say he thought of him 'only for good reasons', even to be polite.

"I hope you don't mind my stealing Harry for a while?"

"Not at all." Well. He didn't have to sound quite so sincere when he said that.

"I'll, er, come back in a little while?" Harry broke in. There had been something distinctly odd in the undertones of that little conversation, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"I have no intention of being lured away," Snape replied, which was about as much as Harry had expected.

"Lead on, Alex," he said, casting a glance back at Snape as he followed her into the middle of the room, which was still crowded with dancing couples.

They danced in silence for a few minutes, much less formally than he had danced with Maia, but not nearly as close as some of the other couples. "You looked like you were having a nice chat," Alex said eventually. "Sorry I interrupted, but I did want a couple of dances, and I could tell I wouldn't be able to pry you away later, what with the way you were eyeing him at dinner."

"I'm not that bad!" Harry exclaimed indignantly.

"Well, maybe not, but I thought I should grab my chance before the two of you got too cosy and I hadn't a hope of breaking in." She blinked, and paused. "Cosy, with Professor Snape. Harry Potter, getting cosy with Professor Snape. Now that's an odd thought."

"That's my future plan you're calling 'an odd thought'!"

"I rest my case."

Harry sighed. "And you're supposed to be my friend. I knew it was a mistake admitting I liked him."

"Your deadly secret is safe with me," she grinned. "Maybe I can even help out. You don't seem to be getting on very fast, anyway, so maybe you could use a bit of assistance."

"That's what I was afraid of. I can manage perfectly well by myself, thanks," Harry replied quickly. When friends wanted to be 'helpful' in his love life, it inevitably turned out to be a disaster, and this one had the potential to put all the others firmly in the shade.

"Well, okay. But, I could drop some hints, you know. Feel him out."

Now she was definitely teasing. "No. No hints. No feeling."

Alex looked at him, and burst out laughing. After a moment, he had to join in, and not just at realising how that last sentence had sounded. He was convinced he could feel Snape's gaze on them from across the room, and laughed a little louder at the weirdness of the whole situation.

When he got back to the corner Snape had been standing in, the man was gone. Although Harry looked for him as best he could for some time, he didn't manage to find him again. In the end, he gave up and circulated with Alex among the people they knew, explaining to Hermione (but only because she asked) that he'd only been talking to Snape because they'd been discussing research again, playing dodge-the-reporter, making occasional conversation and dancing a little more. And wondering the whole time where Snape had gone.

***

Harry spent the next five days reading up on the latest relevant articles, and looking up a few more obscure references, just in case Snape didn't have them. He also tried to put a final gloss on his notes and plans, and succeeded mostly in turning originally succinct sentences into quagmires of verbosity. The day before he was due to leave, he read over the notes again and, with a sigh and a flick of his wand, made them revert to their original state. The house-elves had already packed his personal things, but he went through everything again anyway. It would be really embarrassing if he had to ask Snape to lend him a toothbrush, or a towel, or something. Then he packed up his notes and a few materials - the Imperius counter he'd been working most on recently was much closer to a full-blown ritual than the simple Charms he'd originally looked at, and some of its requirements were rather esoteric.

Finally, at some time past midnight, he took himself off to bed, knowing he had to get some rest because Snape would probably want them to get straight to work when Harry arrived tomorrow. Unfortunately, as soon as he was safely under the covers, he suffered an attack of nerves - What if everything he'd worked on so far was wrong? What if he made some really stupid mistake and wrecked everything? What if Snape figured out that Harry was not-so-secretly lusting after him? - and tossed and turned for some time until finally giving up and downing a dose of homemade Hypnos potion. His last thought, as he drifted finally into sleep, was that hopefully Snape would no longer be able to find so much fault with his potion-making abilities.

In the morning, he woke to his alarm once more, and stumbled through shower and dressing. He forced down a full breakfast, and then gathered his bags and Floo'd once more to Diagon Alley. Checking his watch, he saw that he was slightly earlier than he had planned - he wanted to appear punctual, but not too terribly eager - and decided to take advantage of the early hour and the consequent lack of people. Besides, since he was going to be making an extended visit, it was only polite to take a gift. Or something.

After popping into a few shops, he realised he had no real idea what to get for the man, except possibly something to do with potions, and that would simply show the depth of his ignorance. He was about to give up and simply Apparate to the place Snape had arranged to meet him when he realised that he was outside Flourish and Blotts. Hadn't Snape mentioned a new book by the author they'd discussed last time, and said he'd wanted to look for it when he had the chance? Hoping that Snape hadn't bought it already, Harry hurried into the shop and soon had it tucked safely into a pocket. Now he had to pull together the courage to give it to the man.

When he Apparated into the little wooded clearing Snape had told him about, he found Snape waiting for him. "Hi," he said. "Sorry I'm late, hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"I've only been here for a few minutes," Snape said. He frowned a little, seeming about to say something else, and Harry waited expectantly. "I am sorry for leaving the wedding so abruptly. I," he paused a moment. "I remembered another obligation."

Harry was intensely curious, but didn't ask. That had been an apology, after all, and it was probably dangerous to push too much. "That's all right," he replied instead. "I'm really looking forward to this," he found himself confessing.

"It promises to be most interesting, yes. And it should be rewarding, I hope. Shall we?" Snape indicated the path leading out of the clearing before moving down it.

"Of course," Harry followed him hurriedly. "Did you manage to sort it out?"

"Sort what out?" Snape looked back at Harry over his shoulder, a slight frown on his face.

"Your other obligation."

"Oh. Yes, indeed. I hope I didn't miss too much excitement at the reception." He paused a moment on the path so that Harry could catch up, rather than trailing several paces behind.

As they walked, Harry proceeded to fill him in on just what he  _had_ missed. He derived a great deal of satisfaction from Snape's short bark of laughter when Harry described just what lengths he'd had to go to in order to avoid the reporter's determined attempts to corner him and get an interview. When Harry remembered the book and handed it over, he got a smile and a 'thank you' that was nearly as satisfying as the laugh.

Eventually they reached a modest-sized house, at least by wizarding standards. In fact, it was about the same size as the ruins at Godric's Hollow had once been. Harry still owned the property, but he hadn't quite been able to bring himself to rebuild the house and live there again - yet another reason for his purchase of his own house.

Snape unlocked the door and ushered him quickly through a bit of corridor and into a cosy living room. Harry looked around with interest, putting down his bags and taking the seat Snape indicated. From the glimpse of corridor and the look of this room, it was comfortably and elegantly decorated, if not seeming overly, well, Snape-like. The furniture wasn't quite as obviously expensive as he'd expected. There were only a few portraits on the walls, although there were also several darker patches where some seemed to have been removed, and all the small objects and trinkets had more of the look of family heirlooms than of a personal collection.

When Harry finally looked back at Snape, the man was smirking slightly at him. "One could easily get the impression that you've never been in someone else's house before."

"Well, I've certainly never been in  _your_  house before." Harry caught the amused gaze for a moment, and then twisted pointedly around in his chair to look behind him as well.

"Ah. I see. And does it meet with your approval?"

"Mm, yes." Harry frowned at one of the portraits, trying to figure out what on earth that… object… on the table next to the old man in the painting was, and his next comment slipped out without conscious direction. "But you haven't changed much here, have you?"

There was a short pause. "No. But what makes you say that?"

"It, er, doesn't feel like, well, like you." Harry turned around again, sitting back in his chair more conventionally, feeling a faint blush he couldn't completely suppress creeping into his face.

"I see. I haven't changed anything here since my mother died. Neither my father nor I had much interest in interior decorating, as I'm sure you understand, and my sister hadn't lived here in quite some time before that."

"Oh," said Harry, and searched for a change of topic. "Is there somewhere I can put my things? I mean, we don't have much time, and the quicker I get settled, the sooner we can start."

Snape nodded. "Of course. Follow me."

Harry grabbed his bags and trailed Snape up two flights of stairs and to a closed door. Snape opened it to reveal a decent-sized guest room, simply furnished. Surprisingly large windows allowed the weak March sunlight to flood the room. Harry stepped in, and put his bags by the side of the bed. Realising Snape hadn't followed him, he returned to the door.

"I'll leave you to settle in," said Snape. "If you need to find me when you're finished, I should be either in the workroom, which is in the cellar, or in my bedroom, on the first floor. It's the second door on the left. Otherwise, I'll send a house-elf to call you for lunch. I thought we could start work after eating."

"Sounds great. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy it."

"You're not here to enjoy the experience," said Snape, rather tartly, but he gave Harry a hint of a smile before sweeping back down the corridor towards the stairs.

Harry closed the door and set about unpacking, which didn't take long. Soon the few clothes he'd brought - he was only staying for a week, after all - were stuffed into the wardrobe, looking rather forlorn in its spaciousness, and his toothbrush and towel and such were scattered around the attached bathroom. He still had one full bag, but that was full of project-related things, and he decided that it was probably best to put them in the workroom right away.

On his way down, he located Snape's bedroom door - at least, he didn't think he'd managed to mix up the simple directions - but his cautious knock didn't receive any answer. He continued down to the cellar. The stairs led him into a small room. He was for a moment bewildered by the four doors leading off it. However, since only one was unlocked, he assumed that led to the workroom. He tapped gently on the door. At the "What is it?" that followed, he cracked the door open and peered in to make sure he wasn't interrupting some delicate operation. The door opened into a smallish workroom, lined with cabinets and shelves, all filled with an assortment of jars, books and potions ingredients. It looked rather like a cross between Snape's office and private workroom at Hogwarts. Harry guessed it was probably Snape's favourite room in the house.

Snape was at a worktable, chopping up a bunch of some leaves Harry couldn't immediately identify, and other ingredients in an assortment of containers stood on the table. Since there weren't any cauldrons out or fires lit, Harry assumed it was safe to enter and slipped in, closing the door again behind him.

"Finished already?" asked Snape, turning to glance at Harry before returning to massacring the defenceless pile of vegetation.

"Well, I didn't bring that much. But I do have some things that I need to work on." He hefted the bag in his hand despite the fact that Snape wasn't looking at him any more. "Is there somewhere I can put it?" He looked around, but couldn't spot anywhere to put his things. He'd thought there would be more space available - after all, that had been one of the reasons behind working here, although just for the moment he wasn't about to object to any excuse for spending time in Snape's house.

Snape scooped half of the chopped leaves into a silver container and turned to Harry just in time to catch his faintly dismayed look. "This is just the potions preparation workroom," he said. "The main workroom is in the next room." He indicated the other door in the room with the hand still holding the wickedly sharp knife. "I've cleared a worktable for you, and I can make more room if you need it. I hope you have no objection to clearing up after yourself, as I don't allow the house-elves into these two rooms."

"Your classes prepared me for that, if nothing else," replied Harry, gaining a wry smile from Snape. "Besides, I do the same thing at home."

"Yes, all my students leave school at least qualified in basic cleaning, if not in potions."

Harry gave Snape a smirk that could have - he hoped - passed for one of his own, and walked into the next room to save having to come up with something witty. And, perhaps a little, to avoid grabbing the man and kissing him, just to see what he tasted like. It was an urge that seemed to become more and more pressing every time they had one of those lightly teasing conversations. Harry sighed quietly, reminding himself that they were working together, that Snape was probably as straight as the proverbial arrow (just like almost every other wizard he'd found even remotely attractive in the last few years), and that they had a history of long antagonism, even if their more recent history was more of friendly sniping.

Since that tactic didn't seem to be working particularly well, Harry attempted to distract himself by looking around the new room he found himself in. It was perhaps a little more than twice the size of the potions workroom, similarly furnished, although with a larger proportion of books and a less specialised collection of equipment. He could feel the magical hum of the wards against his skin, even more strongly than the ones he remembered protecting Snape's workroom at Hogwarts. They didn't make him feel as uneasy as other people's wards sometimes made him feel, however. Instead, they felt protective, almost comforting. He decided against examining that instinct any more closely.

Most of the workbenches were clearly in use, others equally obviously prepared for particular purposes. Only one was completely clear of any clutter, the one closest to the door, and he assumed that was the one Snape had intended for him to use. Setting his things out in his preferred order occupied him for a few minutes, as did finding, or making, gaps on the shelves for the few books he'd decided to bring.

When he turned from putting away the last book, a faint scrabbling sound caught his attention. As he looked around for its source, his gaze caught a row of cages on the floor against the wall opposite the door. He hadn't noticed them before, probably because they were so low down. He crouched down to examine them, realising that each had a small occupant. These, then, were to be their testers. He'd known what they planned to do when they presented their plan to the Ministry. He'd written the plan himself. But now, faced with the cages, he wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable with it. Yes, it would, he hoped, be the first step in helping a lot of people. And no, they weren't going to Avada Kedavra any of them - at least this time around - but he still couldn't help feeling just a little uneasy, not to mention a little sorry for the creatures. Even the beady little eyes of one of the rats, bringing to mind Pettigrew, didn't make him feel any better about it. He sighed again, and slipped a finger between the bars of the cage to stroke the top of its head.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, jumping up and shaking his hand. The little bugger had  _bitten_ him. He glared at the cage. So much for feeling sorry for it. It deserved everything it got, he thought. Mumbling to himself and clutching his bleeding finger, he went to see if Snape had any plasters, although he didn't much fancy explaining just why he needed one. He made a note of which cage his attacker now lurked in. It would be the first to go, he decided. His finger was stinging horribly, and he wondered if Snape had invested in poison rats. It would be just like him. He'd probably even expected that Harry would try to pet the darn things.

He turned the door handle with an elbow, since one hand was still busy clutching the other. He could feel blood welling gently, warm and sticky between his fingers. He told himself he'd had much worse injuries over the years playing Quidditch, let alone in the war, but that didn't change that it still hurt. A lot.

Snape was washing up, and didn't look round at the sound of the door. "Good timing, Harry. I've just finished. Why don't you sit down and I'll be with you in a minute."

"Er," said Harry, wondering how to broach the subject.

"Is something the matter?"

"Nothing really. Just... do you have a plaster?" Harry perched himself on a stool and tried not to blush.

"A plaster? What happened?" Now Snape did turn, his eyes widening ever so slightly on seeing Harry cradling his hand against his chest.

"I, er, had a little accident."

"I see. Show me." Harry proffered his injured extremity. Snape blinked. "A life-threatening injury, I see. I don't suppose it occurred to you that a healing charm could have dealt with that perfectly well."

Harry blushed a little more. "No." He fumbled for his wand, left-handed.

Snape rolled his eyes a little. "Oh, let me." He produced his wand from a robe pocket with his right hand, and grabbed Harry's hand less than gently with his left. Harry suppressed a shiver. He rather thought that it might well be the first time Snape had touched him since they'd met again in the potions supplier's. With a quick flick of Snape's wand and a 'Medicus', the cut was sealed.

Snape dropped Harry's hand, and Harry tried not to sigh. "Thanks," he said.

"I seem to have made a second career out of saving your skin, I might as well add repairing it to my responsibilities." Harry decided that was Snapish for 'You're welcome'. "How did you manage that, Harry?"

Harry supposed he couldn't really avoid the direct question. "One of your rats bit me."

"Ah. Of course." Harry scowled, just a little, at his tone. "Would you care for some lunch now, or are you too shaken by your injury?"

"All right!" Harry said, getting up. "I'm an idiot, I should have known better than to try to pet a rat. Now will you drop the subject?"

"If you insist. The dining room is this way."

By the time they reached the dining room and the food had been produced, Harry was feeling less embarrassed by the incident, and consequently less touchy, despite the lingering itch in his finger. The conversation at lunch focused mostly on their plans for the rest of the day. Each of them, they decided, would work on preparing their Imperius counter. The preparations would take four days, and then they would finally be able to try out the fruits of their work, both individually and in combination.

Snape, slightly to Harry's surprise, moved into the main workroom. When Harry asked, he explained that he preferred to work there if the potion would take some time to prepare. Setting out the last lot of ingredients, he began adding them to the cauldron that had been simmering on his workbench for the last two weeks. Harry turned his attention to his own preparations, and they worked in a surprisingly companionable silence, each of them absorbed in getting their parts just right.

Harry had gone over these techniques many times already, but it was the first time he was putting the parts together with this much  _intent_  behind them. Before, it had just been for practice, for testing. For use on much more minor curses. This was the real thing; or at least, as close to it as they were going to get for quite a while. But a little corner of his mind not absorbed by the work at hand was again thinking of ways to improve the process. These lengthy preparations were acceptable at the moment, at this still very theoretical stage of the work. He couldn't help but feel that there had to be a way to shorten them, make them more appropriate for an emergency situation, or at least set them up earlier so that only the final charm would be required. Perhaps some of the activating charms could be tied into a potion? He made a quick note on a scrap of paper to ask Snape later on. When magic was this complex, the boundaries between disciplines tended to blur rather a lot, and he reminded himself yet again not to get caught out by the old school-day lines. Snape's potion was supposed to be taken 'pre-curse', as it were, and it would actually be very useful if parts of the counter-charm could be built in, in case of an especially strong curse. It was definitely worth discussing.

They worked for several hours, Severus finishing slightly before Harry. He walked over to where Harry was still making the final preparations and watched with interest. Harry tried not to be unnerved by the rather intense scrutiny, attempting instead to keep his mind on these last steps of the day. When he was finally done, he put his things carefully in order, cast a quick preservation charm over the lot in case of accident, and then finally looked up at Snape, who was leaning against the worktable opposite, arms folded across his chest and an absorbed expression on his face. He said nothing, but simply waited for Harry to grab up his sheaf of notes and follow him to the dining room once more.

After dinner, they moved to the sitting room that Harry had seen before. Harry accepted another glass of wine and brought up his idea about tying the charm and potion more closely together. Snape agreed that it sounded like a workable idea. Depending on the results of the first test, and given some time, he said he was sure he could come up with something that they could test at their next session. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned that 'next meeting', and Harry once again felt that gleam of hope.

The next two days passed in much the same way. They spent most of the time working in near-silence, occasionally asking each other for opinions or suggestions. They took their meals together, and their conversations ranged from their research, to their respective hobbies. In the couple of hours they spent talking after dinner, they moved slowly into talking about more personal things.

They slipped, in fact, into a surprisingly easy friendship. Some time in the next day, Harry realised he had gone from just calling the other man 'Severus' to thinking of him as that way, as the man rather than the professor. Each evening as they sat in the comfortable chairs, glasses of good wine to hand, the fire in the hearth making the room cosy, Harry wondered how his seventh-year crush had turned into this friendship. And he wondered when, and  _how_ , he had managed to fall in love with the man he had hated for so long.

In the afternoon of Harry's fifth day in Severus' house, they made their first tests. The results indicated a cautious success, at least showing they were on the right track. While both Harry's charm and Severus' potion could prevent or counteract a relatively weak curse, when either of them cast a curse at even medium strength, their counters were soon overwhelmed. That night's dinner conversation revolved around possible ways of strengthening the counters.

When the plates were cleared, however, and Harry moved again to the now-familiar living room, the conversation turned, by unspoken mutual consent, to less taxing topics. They were both somewhat tired by the last few days, not to mention the effect of casting several Imperius curses, though Harry was rather more affected than Severus. He gladly agreed to Severus' suggestion that they take a day - or even two - off before beginning to prepare their Cruciatus counters.

Somehow Harry found himself spilling out his woes. In particular, the way that everyone seemed to want to find him a wife. Severus leaned back against the yielding cushions of the sofa, long, dextrous fingers absently turning his wine-glass, eyes fixed on Harry, who sat in the armchair opposite. Harry hoped his shiver wasn't too noticeable. When Harry finally wound down his ramble on all matchmakers in general, and Molly in particular, Severus spoke.

"What about that girl you brought to Hermione's wedding? Miss Sterani? You seemed to be enjoying her company very much. When might we be expecting the news of your engagement?" He was looking down at the swirling wine in his glass now, and Harry almost thought he could detect a hint of jealousy in the tone of that question. He told himself he was being silly. There was no possible way Severus would be jealous of Alex. Although if he was, then the implications... Harry cut off that train of thought right there, but decided there would be no harm - and perhaps some good - in setting Severus straight about his relationship with Alex.

"Well, actually," he said, and took another sip of his wine to fortify himself, just in case this conversation led where he hoped. "Our relationship isn't quite what we let people think. So the answer would be 'never'." Severus didn't respond, and Harry kept explaining. "She's just helping me out, helping me keep the matchmakers off my back for a bit. We're good friends - very good friends, actually - but that's all."

"Ah," said Severus. "And may I ask just  _why_ you have this aversion to matchmaking, and marriage? Most other young men would pay a great deal to be in your position. A beautiful young woman is still a beautiful young woman, whoever is doing the pursuing."

Harry wondered what to say. "Er. None of them are exactly my type. I'm quite... picky." Certainly, he was when it came to women.

Severus flicked a quick glance at Harry, emptied his glass and put it aside. "I see. If I may be so bold as to ask, what exactly  _is_ your type, that none of the eligible young witches fit it?"

Harry had been, was, a Gryffindor, so his courage didn't - quite - fail him at the not unexpected questions. But he did brace himself, preparing for what would probably be the end of an unexpectedly rewarding business partnership, not to mention friendship. He folded his hands together to keep from fidgeting. "That would be because I prefer men," he said, and prayed it wouldn't all fall apart.

The only reaction Severus gave to this revelation was a slight widening of his eyes. While it wasn't exactly an enthusiastic reception, it certainly wasn't the horrified reaction Harry had been half-expecting.

"I see," said Severus, just as Harry was about to say something - anything - to break the tense silence.

And what exactly did  _that_ mean, Harry wondered. He looked across and willed him to say something more, but it seemed nothing else was forthcoming. His confession seemed to have rather effectively killed the conversation, and after another few moments where nothing more was said, he stood up. "Anyway," he said, "I should be going to bed, I guess. Busy day tomorrow," his sentence trailed off, and he shrugged awkwardly.

He felt a little better when Severus looked up at him, smiled, and said "I'll expect to see you early tomorrow then. Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night." Harry took himself off to bed, wondering how the morning would turn out.

Not at all badly, as it turned out. Severus' reaction to Harry's confession seemed to be no real reaction at all. In fact, over that day, and the next, Harry couldn't find anything at all that had changed in their conversation, or interaction, no matter how hard, or with however much paranoia he looked. And that meant Harry eventually felt confident enough to start trying to figure out what  _Severus'_ preference was. He still wasn't prepared to ask it directly, though. He dreaded to think what sort of put-down the man could come up with for that.

All that day, Harry tried every indirect way of approaching the subject that he could think of, but every time the question he was really asking was ignored. By the time they settled down for the usual post-dinner chat, he was starting to feel rather frustrated, but he was willing to try one more time. Only this time, the answer was different.

"Would you please refrain from any more clumsy fishing for personal information, Potter. If you would like to know my sexual preference I would much prefer a direct interrogation, if that's perfectly all right with you," said Severus rather exasperatedly.

"Oh," said Harry faintly, and then because Severus' comment hadn't been completely discouraging, "So what  _is_  your preference, then?"

"I am not excessively fond of labelling, as I would have expected you to have realised." Harry supposed he should have, at that. Being labelled a dangerous Death Eater by most people, with no regard for the things you'd done to redeem yourself probably would have that effect on anyone.

Still, he was determined to get a proper answer. "You did tell me to ask you directly," he pointed out.

"I did. However, that does not mean I am obliged to give you a full answer to the question."

Harry gave him a hard look. "Honestly. You'd think I was trying to get you to tell me the biggest secret of your life, or something."

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. "And perhaps you are. But very well, then. I have had experience with both sexes, and found that the person matters to me more than the appendages of the body. Does that satisfy you?" And he said it all in a perfectly matter of fact tone, as if he wasn't causing all of Harry's hopes and fantasies to flare up with the fuel he had just offered. Because if he said that, then those looks that Harry had caught might have meant what he hadn't quite dared to believe they had. He swallowed as discreetly as he could, wondering if he could risk pushing it further.

"So, er, is there. I mean…" Severus was smirking at his sudden attack of incoherence. "Do you, er, have your eye on anyone at the moment?" As soon as he said it, he knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't take it back. He wondered if Severus had heard the question he was really asking. 'Me. Do you have your eye on me?'

"I fail to see how that is any of your business." Once upon a time, the haughtiness in Severus' tone would have discouraged Harry immediately. Now, though, he recognised that the expression he wore meant he would answer if pushed. Naturally, Harry pushed.

"Well, what if I tell you who I'm interested in? Then will you tell me?"

Severus blinked. "Do I  _look_ like a fifteen year old girl to you, to be interested in swapping the names of our crushes?" Harry opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as Severus continued. "On the other hand, I would be interested to know what sort of man could capture the attention of the great Harry Potter. Why not tell me, and I shall think about telling you."

In the ordinary way of things, Harry would have let him know in no uncertain terms just what he thought of that. But he also knew that he had to say something soon, or he never would, and that was a prospect even harder to face than telling Severus he'd fallen in love with him. He dropped his gaze to his tightly-clasped hands, grasped his courage tightly, and said, "Well. Actually. The person, er, that would be you." He could feel a hot blush creeping into his cheeks and could do nothing to prevent it.

There was a dead silence from the other chair. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his hands, and forcibly kept his fingers from tapping nervously. After a few minutes, when there was still no verbal reaction, he dared a glance up at Severus, who was looking at him with a stern, closed expression, far too familiar to Harry even though he hadn't seen it in a long while. His heart sank.

"Is that meant to be a joke?" Severus asked witheringly. "I do not appreciate being made fun of,  _Harry_."

Harry flinched as his name was turned into a reproach, an accusation of abusing Severus' trust. It was too late to do anything but press on, however, and try to convince him of his sincerity. One way or another, he was sure this was the last chance he'd ever get.

"It's not," he replied quietly. "I wouldn't joke about something this important, you know that. Don't you?" This time he refused to drop his eyes. He couldn't risk it.

Severus looked back at him, his face intent but otherwise completely unreadable. "Do I? It wasn't so long ago that you barely tolerated me, as I did you."

"I know. And I don't know how things changed either, but they did. Not so long ago, I wouldn't even have believed we could be friends, but we are now, aren't we?"

There was no response, which Harry took for agreement.

"So, yes. I like you, as much as it surprised me at first, and I'd love to find out if we could be more than friends. But I don't... I mean, if you... I don't expect anything from you, really, but you have to believe me, at least."

"I have to?" Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Severus cut him off with a wave of his hand, his expression thoughtful. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, getting up.

Harry just nodded, and wondered what that meant. Walking out wasn't a good sign, but he had said 'for a moment'. He resisted the urge to get up, track down the other man and ask him for an answer one way or another. He picked up that evening's book from the table beside his chair, but hadn't a hope of concentrating on it, but he hoped that at least turning the pages would give him something to do with his hands instead of eating his fingernails. The minutes ticked by, excruciatingly slow.

The clock claimed it was barely more than five minutes before Severus returned and took his seat again, but it felt like a small eternity to Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Harry felt like cutting him off right there. It sounded awfully like the beginning of a gentle let-down, although he wouldn't have expected 'gentle' from Severus' initial reaction. Maybe that's why he'd wanted the time…

"Let me finish," said Severus, seeming to have read his mind. He looked rather tense, as if he had made some sort of decision he wasn't completely sure about. Harry hoped desperately it wasn't going to be what he thought it was.

"I am sorry for leaving like that," continued Severus, "but I needed a moment to think about what you said. You see, I had never expected to hear anything like that from you." He paused again, and Harry wanted to tell him to just get on with it. "I hadn't expected it, and I was too glad to hear it to truly believe what I had heard."

Oh, thought Harry, and let his eyes meet Severus'. He felt suddenly numb, unable to quite believe that the other man had really said what he thought he'd heard. But Severus was looking back at him without any hint of ambivalence, as if he really meant what he'd said. Harry almost got out of his chair and flung himself at the other man at that moment, but held himself back just in case he was reading all of this horribly wrong. "Severus, does that mean what I think it does?" he asked instead, his hands gripping the book so tightly that a distant corner of his mind feared for its safety.

"I fear it would be impossible to tell what you are thinking with any confidence. However, in this case, I think it does." Severus' voice wasn't quite as steady as it might have been, and it dawned on Harry that maybe he was just as nervous at his confession as Harry had been himself.

His "Oh," escaped his mouth this time, startled out of him by the double revelation. The admission was more or less  _exactly_ what he had hoped for, after all. The only problem was, he hadn't been at all prepared for it. He sat for a moment, stunned into silence.

"Harry?" Severus' voice was faintly worried. Harry wondered distantly if he thought that Harry was going to change his mind and decide to reject him after all, impossible as the idea seemed to Harry himself. He wondered what he could say that would be appropriately reassuring, without seeming like he was trying to be.

Then again, he thought, actions had always served him better than words. He stood up, took the one long step necessary to leave him standing just in front of Severus, looking down at him. And then he stopped, wondering what exactly he should do next.

Severus looked intently up at him, and his expression subtly shifted, relaxing at whatever he'd seen in Harry's face. "Harry," he asked softly, "may I kiss you?"

Harry stared at him. No one had ever  _asked_ before, and he wasn't sure what the usual response was. He settled for the obvious, "Yes."

The line of Severus' mouth quirked upwards, then firmed suddenly as if he had made some sort of decision. "Good," he said, and his arms came up, his fingers tucking into Harry's waistband and pulling. Harry tumbled into Severus' lap, his breath going out of him in a surprised 'whoof'. He barely had time to draw in a breath, and attempt to get his limbs into a more comfortable position before Severus' arms were around him and his face was descending towards Harry's, slowly, giving him time to move away if he wanted.

He had not the slightest desire to do so. He was perfectly comfortable where he was, if a little surprised to be there. Severus' lips brushed against his, cool and dry, light and almost tentative. Harry smiled up at him when he pulled away, and leaned up to return the gesture, adding a flick of tongue against his lips, tasting the flavour of the wine he had been drinking. This close, Severus smelled of the residue of the day's potion brewing. It wasn't an entirely pleasant smell, but Harry was content to put up with it if it meant he got this too. Severus' arms around him were a pleasant weight, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. His heart pounded in his ears, so hard that he wondered briefly if Severus could hear it too.

He leaned back finally, eyes closed for a moment to better savour the thing - one of the things - he'd been dreaming about for years. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that same intense, previously unreadable, expression on Severus' face. Only now he thought he knew what it was. It was desire, and Harry shivered at the thought, the knowledge, that Severus wanted him.

"What is it?" asked Severus, a hint of concern diluting the desire. "You can't be cold, surely?"

"No." Harry smiled and began trying to get himself into a position more like 'sitting' than his current sprawl. "Just thinking." Severus helped when he realised what he was trying to do, and soon Harry was arranged more to his satisfaction, feeling ever so slightly self-conscious, but also terribly comfortable. He slipped his arms around Severus, put his head against his shoulder, and grinned. "I can't believe I'm sitting in your lap," he said musingly. He could feel Severus' suppressed laugh in the movement of the chest against his cheek. "If someone had predicted this a few years ago, I would have called them insane, for one reason or another. Actually, if they'd said it a few  _days_ ago, I'd probably have said the same."

"So little confidence in your own charms, have you?" Severus' hand was stroking Harry's side in a very distracting way, but he was managing to pay attention somehow.

"You think I have charms?"

"I think you think you have charms. And, more to the point, you know how to use them. Or use them without knowing. I'm not sure which is the more dangerous."

Harry blinked, and tried to make sense of that. After a moment, he shrugged, and decided there were better things he could be doing, considering the position they were currently in. He wound a hand into Severus' thick hair, and pulled him down into another kiss, opening his mouth and inviting Severus in. Severus' tongue stroked the top of his mouth, tangled with his own, rubbed against every inch of sensitive flesh, his hands playing skilled counterpoint against the rest of Harry's body, even through his clothes. The kiss went on and on, until Harry was hard and practically throbbing in his pants, and all they'd done was kiss. Spectacularly, mind you, but it was only kissing. He wondered how he was going to survive sex. Now that he was reasonably confident that there  _was_ going to be sex.

A matching hardness pressed against Harry's thigh, and Severus' hair slid greasily under and through his fingers, but those were peripheral, unimportant details. The only thing that mattered right now was the utter bliss Severus' mouth and hands were bestowing on him. He moaned against those wonderful lips, and decided breathing was distinctly a lesser priority.

When the kiss finally ended in the interests of continued consciousness, Harry gasped in a breath and tried to pull Severus back. This time, he resisted, although he didn't let go of Harry either. "Wait," he said.

"What? Why?"

"We have to talk about this, Harry, before it goes any further."

Harry sighed slightly, relaxing a little and letting his arms drop. "I know."

Severus loosened his grip too, and tilted his head so he could look Harry more-or-less in the eye. His hand was still rubbing gently at Harry's side, though, making his shirt slide against his ribs in a way that wasn't helping to get rid of his erection at all. "What, exactly, do you want from me, from this?" Severus asked.

Harry thought, trying to ignore his arousal, and Severus' closeness, and all the rest of it. There was an easy answer - two of them, in fact. But he had the feeling that nothing but complete honesty would work out in the end. "What I said before. I've wanted you for... a very long time, now. I didn't think you'd ever want me, but that's not an issue any more, I guess. And I want, well, everything. I have no idea how it happened, but I'm in love with you."

Severus' arms tightened convulsively around him, and Harry shivered at the expression on his face. All he said, with surprising blandness, was, "I hadn't expected to hear that either, but it is... good to know," but the intensity with which he looked down at Harry spoke for itself. Harry dropped his eyes, unable to face it for too long, shockingly open on Severus' normally so controlled face.

He pulled his mind back to the conversation with an effort. "Just good?" he couldn't resist asking, making a conscious effort to relax the mood.

"All right, more than 'just good'." Severus' lips brushed the top of his head, and he said, so quietly that Harry could barely hear it despite their closeness, "And as I'm sure you've gathered, the feeling is not unreturned." One of his hands, as cool and dry as his lips, lifted Harry's chin gently, forcing him to meet his eyes again.

"Not gathered. Hoped," Harry corrected, smiling rather inanely in relief and pleasure. "That's 'good to know' too, but you know, there are much better declarations."

"And doubtless you've heard many of them, so I will not try to outdo them." Severus half-smiled back at him, but his eyes were suddenly grave.

"On second thought, I think that was just about perfect," said Harry. Severus was right. He  _had_ heard quite a few, and thinking back on them, he shuddered. There were few things more embarrassing, for example, than a tearful young woman throwing herself at you and pouring out her desperate love when you were trying to have a quiet dinner with a friend. And then, of course, there was being ambushed outside your own flat by a girl who'd managed to charm his doorkeeper into believing that she was Harry's girlfriend, and that he would be exceedingly pleased to find her there, waiting for him. Needless to say, he hadn't been nearly as pleased as expected. Not to mention the naked lady in the changing rooms, who had to have been seventy if she'd been a day. And while he demonstrably had a thing for older people, his taste was specifically older  _men._ No, his history with declarations of love hadn't exactly been the best.

"Bad experiences?" asked Severus, looking curiously at him.

"Something like that. Remind me to tell you some other time." Harry pushed the memories out of his mind, and concentrated instead on  _this_ declaration, and this situation. Far better than all of the others, not least because it was just where he wanted to be. He wriggled, trying to get a little closer.

Severus cleared his throat. "Harry." Harry stopped, feeling faintly as if he'd been caught wandering the corridors again. "You do realise that if you want to get any closer to me, you'd have to be, er, inside me?"

"Great idea!" His arousal, which had been slowly fading during their conversation - and because of his memories - flared again at the mental image Severus' question brought up.

"Harry," said Severus, in a distinctly quelling tone.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I thought..." he broke off, blushing. It was far too obvious what he'd thought. Now Severus was going to think that all he wanted from him was sex, and Harry knew that if that thought got ingrained, he wouldn't have a chance to have anything else.  _And_ Severus was going to think that Harry wanted to top. All in all, he'd probably managed to mess everything up.

Severus kissed him again, but pulled away before Harry, encouraged by the gesture, and ever so slightly desperate, could reintroduce their tongues. "I am afraid you are going to think me horrendously old-fashioned. However, I would like to become accustomed to the idea of being in a relationship with you before we jump into bed together." He paused, and a hint of mischief flickered across his face. "Besides," he said, and his voice had dropped to a purr that set off all sorts of fireworks in Harry's belly and groin. "I intend our first time together to be  _extremely_ memorable, and I doubt I will be able to keep a suitable grasp of myself if we were to do anything more now."

Harry wasn't terribly pleased by the suggestion, but he did understand Severus' view. It even made sense, to the part of him that wasn't mumbling about how he hadn't had sex with another person in almost a year, how close Severus was, how hot those kisses had been - not to mention that last sentence - and wondering why on earth the fact that they'd both essentially admitted to being in love wasn't enough. That part of him, was, unfortunately, getting louder the longer he stayed in Severus' lap.

"All right," he said, in a voice that cracked just a touch, and tried to pull his thoughts together. "In that case, I think I'd better go to my room before I try to put the moves on you. I'm a bit rusty, you see, and you'd probably just laugh at me." As he spoke, he began to disentangle himself from Severus, eventually managing to stand relatively composedly in front of him.

"I, er. Good night," he said. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned in and gave Severus yet another light kiss, supporting himself on the arms of Severus' chair. He drew back when he felt the near-irresistible impulse to deepen the kiss.

"Good night, Harry," said Severus quietly.

Harry smiled softly and took himself off to his room, where he tried to fall asleep. But his mind kept playing surround-sense images of those kisses, the feeling of soft robes against him and the lean, hard body under them pressed to his, of the sound of Severus' voice and the taste of his mouth. His unsatisfied arousal returned full force as the reality of kissing Severus, of feeling him, merged with his long-held fantasies. He tried to ignore it, to blank his mind and ignore the temptation, but it was impossible.

As his right hand slid under the sheets and down his body, he couldn't help feeling a little guilty. Before, when it had been just a fantasy, he had been able to not think about what Severus would think if he knew Harry was wanking, and thinking of him. Now, it was different, especially since he was doing it under Severus' own roof. On the other hand, he had rather more luck pushing away the guilt than the arousal.

As his hand moved down his bare side, unconsciously replicating Severus' touch of earlier that evening, Harry closed his eyes and let the memory-fantasy envelop him. The touch wasn't the same - his hand was the wrong shape, the angle wasn't right - but it was close enough to make him even harder. He sighed in pure pleasure as he slipped his hand under the waistband of his pyjamas, teasing himself by pausing for a moment, stroking the soft skin just above the base of his cock.

In his mind, Severus was smirking, waiting for him to ask for the next touch. Something in Harry's chest curled tighter and tighter, anticipating the contact. As the smirk widened, Harry shuddered, and tugged at his waistband, pulling down his pyjamas and freeing his erection.

He wrapped his hand around his cock and squeezed gently. It was a familiar weight, hot and heavy in his own warm hand, but Harry couldn't help imagining Severus' long, cool fingers in place of his own. His other hand joined in, tugging gently at the curls of hair on his chest, touching his nipples, rolling them between his fingers. He stroked himself slowly, content to let the pleasure build for the moment, wringing it out through his firm grip. He moaned quietly as he slid his thumb across the head of his cock, smearing the sticky drop of precome that had gathered on the head; then he shifted, pulling his knees up, setting his feet flat against the sheets, as if displaying himself for the other person he wished was here.

Distantly, he wished for the jar of lubricant that sat in his bedside drawer at home. He honestly hadn't intended to be doing this here. Well, he'd just have to make do with what he had.

As his left hand continued to play with his nipples, he brought his right up and licked it. When he took hold of his arousal again, the wet and the hint of slickness added another layer of sensation. He shivered again, stroking a touch faster, and moved his other hand lower, caressing his torso and moving between his legs. Massaging his balls gently, he reached for the orgasm he could feel approaching with all the subtlety of a hurtling freight train. He teased the head of his erection again, tilted his hips up and moved his other hand behind him, parting his arse cheeks. One finger stroked over his entrance, rubbing at the hypersensitive skin there and he writhed against it.

In his imagination, Severus knelt between his spread legs. It was his lubricated finger touching him, teasing him, preparing to enter him, to make him ready for the thick, hard cock he could see nestled between Severus' legs. As he squeezed himself again, it was that thought, the image of Severus fucking him - hard, fast and so good, with that intense look on his face, as if Harry was the only thing in the world that he wanted - that sent him over the edge, and he cried out Severus' name as climax hit him in a hot, sweet surge and he spilled his come all over the sheets.

He gasped for a few moments afterwards, trying to gather his breath and his shattered thoughts. It had been so good, and yet he felt oddly empty. There should have been another body there, to curl up against, to feel warm beside him, another heart racing and other laboured breathing matching his own. The feeling was all the stronger for the knowledge that he  _could_ have Severus, but only in time. He reached for his wand mechanically, and cleaned up the sticky, cooling mess he had made. Then he curled up around a pillow in an attempt to stave off the feeling of loneliness, and let the post-orgasmic languor finally carry him off to sleep, not nearly as sated as he had expected to be.

***

He woke early the next morning and, as was his habit by now, washed and dressed quickly before going down to the dining room for breakfast. As usual, Severus was already there. The table was piled with dishes in a manner worthy of Hogwarts, and the smell of perfectly-cooked bacon drifted into Harry's nose. As he stepped in and caught sight of the other man, he felt an uncharacteristic surge of shyness. Ignoring it as best he could, he walked over to stand beside his chair. Severus looked up at him, and Harry dropped a brief kiss on his lips, much more of a near-friendly peck than an all-out snog. "Morning," he said, and slid into the chair next to Severus.

"Good morning," said Severus, spreading jam on a slice of toast. He examined Harry more closely, and frowned. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh. More or less," replied Harry, avoiding meeting Severus' eyes by reaching for the dish of bacon, and hoping he'd drop the subject. He didn't exactly feel like explaining why he wasn't feeling a hundred percent this morning. He wasn't even sure he  _could_ explain it.

"Hm. Harry, are you uncomfortable with what happened last night? I am more than willing to forget it ever happened, until you are more ready to move on. Or permanently, if you wish."

"No!" Harry was startled into looking at Severus. "No," he repeated. "It's nothing. Just... I'll be fine in a bit."

Severus returned the look, seeming rather dubious. "If you insist," he said, and changed the subject. "Was there anything you planned to do today, since you have generously decided to allow us a day of leisure?"

"It wasn't just my decision," Harry pointed out, "and um, not really." He slid another quick glance up at Severus, making a conscious effort to push away the odd melancholy of last night. "I was rather hoping we could explore more of what happened last night, though." He dropped his eyes back to his plate, concentrating on buttering his bread.

"You were, were you?" Harry heard the hint of laughter in the question, and the odd tightness in his chest loosened. Yes, that would be much better. A little banter, a friendly chat, a few kisses - and as much more as Severus would allow him - and he'd be able to completely forget that odd, inexplicable burst of sadness.

"I was." He lifted his glass and sipped. Freshly-squeezed orange juice, perfectly chilled. Severus' food rivalled any he'd tasted.

"I suppose as you are my guest, I am compelled to oblige you." They smiled, and Harry relaxed a little more. This was real. He had almost everything he wanted now, and he could wait a bit longer for the last of it. It would be no problem at all, he was suddenly sure.

They spent much of that day sitting together on the sofa, talking and reading - and doing some of the other things Harry had been hoping for, although Severus didn't let it go much further than kissing. They felt each other out all over again, as 'significant others' rather than friends. Harry started out sitting next to Severus, just close enough that their thighs touched lightly, but as the hours ticked past, first his head fell onto Severus' shoulder, and slowly his whole body tilted and he slid downwards until he was sprawled across the sofa, his head resting in Severus' lap. He was grateful that his thighs weren't quite as bony as he would have expected, and the position was really very comfortable.

At first, Severus pretended not to notice the slow movement, despite his involvement. However, when Harry finally came to rest, and smiled up at him, Severus looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite comfortable?" he asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Very, thanks," replied Harry, wriggling slightly. "Read to me?"

"I see," said Severus, "that being in a relationship with you is going to involve being put in a lot of strange positions."

Harry didn't make an effort to censor his response. "Oh, I certainly  _hope_ so," he purred, and leaned slightly so the side of his head pressed for a moment against Severus' groin.

Severus managed to take a sharp breath in and roll his eyes at the same time. "Harry," he said warningly, but he picked up his book and began to read aloud. The hand not occupied with holding the book came down to play absently with Harry's hair. Harry smiled, and tried not to purr.

Despite their new concerns, the purpose behind Harry's visit was not completely forgotten, even on this free day. The book that Severus' voice turned into a sensual pleasure - to Harry's ears at least - was in fact a text on the integration of charms and potions. Severus had said that he hoped it would give him some ideas on how to implement Harry's idea of moving some of his elaborate preparations into the potion base. Harry even managed to stay awake and focused enough, despite the dual distraction of Severus' voice and hand, to ask the occasional question or point out a section of interest.

All in all, it was one of the more pleasant days that Harry could remember spending in the recent past. When they bid each other goodnight in the corridor at almost midnight, they exchanged one last kiss, and Harry felt extremely content with the way things were progressing. He even thought that, if everything continued as it was, there might well be sex in his near future, to which thought his hormones, and other parts, gave a hearty cheer. That night, he went to sleep smiling.

The next day was spent in much the same manner, although with somewhat less personal discussion and correspondingly more debates on their research. They discussed how well they might expect their Cruciatus counters to work (and decided that only testing would tell) and if they would have time to start making the required changes to their Imperius ones (probably not). However Severus' library, being the work of generations of Snapes, was even more extensive than the one Harry had begun building, so they made that the excuse for not shortening Harry's visit.

The Cruciatus counters took another five days to prepare and test. They turned out to be surprisingly effective for a first attempt, especially in combination - much more so than the Imperius counters. Harry was faintly surprised, but very pleased. Severus, of course, maintained that he had expected nothing less, and was in fact rather disappointed with their other attempts by contrast. In light of the results, they decided that it would be best to concentrate on the Cruciatus instead, as many of the principles for shortening the preparations could be applied to both potion/charm combinations. Once they had something demonstrated to be reliably effective on their specimen animals, they would, hopefully, be granted permission by the Ministry to work on human volunteers. But that evening, they took another, well-deserved, break.

"You know," said Harry, looking up at Severus from his now usual position with his head in the other man's lap. Short as he was, it was quite comfortable for him to stretch out on the sofa, as it would clearly not be for Severus' longer frame. Severus had even mostly stopped giving Harry baleful looks, and Harry didn't bother even trying to be subtle about it any more. "We need a better name for our counters than, well, 'Imperius counter-charm'. Something... catchier."

"Thinking of marketing already?"

Harry huffed out a short laugh. "No. I don't think we're going to need marketing if we can get them to work as well as I think they should. But it would be easier. I think something like 'Potter's Charm' has a nice ring to it, don't you?" He tried to keep his face straight, but knew that a glimmer of a rather cheeky grin was showing at the edges.

"Not terribly descriptive, though, and as I'm sure you've noticed, most names are." Severus smirked at him, and Harry crinkled his nose in response.

"Oh. Pity. I'd grown rather attached to that idea."

"What about Contra-Cruciatus and Contra-Imperius? We need just one name for the whole potion-charm combination, after all, since we are intending them to be used together. The names are simple and say exactly what they're for."

"You've been thinking about names too," accused Harry.

"Perhaps just a little. One of us has to be prepared to come up with sensible ideas, after all."

Harry gave Severus a near-perfect imitation of one of his own raised-eyebrow looks. "And who came up with the idea of these Contra-Unforgivables, anyway?"

"Well, actually, I had been thinking of attempting something along those lines for quite some time. It was just that my other obligations didn't really give me much chance to try."

"Bah," said Harry, and, deciding he wasn't going to have the last word in this any other way, resorted to his usual method of shutting Severus up, which was to swing his legs to the floor, sit up, and seal their lips together. Severus opened his mouth to protest - or something - and Harry took shameless advantage, thrusting his tongue in and kissing him thoroughly, until they were both breathless and incapable of speech.

"That, Harry, is cheating," said Severus sternly, once he'd got some breath back, and leaned in again to retaliate in similar fashion.

And that didn't end until they were both panting and slightly dishevelled, hair mussed and clothing awry. Harry extracted his hands from under Severus' shirt and pulled away when he knew they were getting towards the point where Severus would stop them anyway. He'd promised himself not to push too much. After all, he wasn't supposed to be a teenager any more, and sex wasn't supposed to be as necessary as oxygen. He'd ended up mostly in Severus' lap again, so he rested his forehead against the other man's shoulder, and tried to get himself under control. It was getting harder every time.

"Are you all right?" Severus frowned down at the top of Harry's head, his hand's movements along his back now designed to soothe rather than arouse.

Harry nodded slightly. "Just... give me a minute." His breathing sounded harsh, and loud in his own ears.

"Of course." He kept stroking, pressed a kiss half on Harry's forehead, half on his hair. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, "It's just that... this whole situation is a little difficult for me."

Harry nodded again. "I understand. But it's not easy." He buried his head further in Severus' robes. He smelled of soap and a hint of sweat. Harry found it oddly endearing that he always bothered to take a wash before dinner now, knowing that they would end up like this.

"I know." They sat quietly for another few minutes, then disentangled themselves and Harry excused himself to go to his room and relieve the tension in the only way he could for the moment.

The last two days of Harry's stay passed in what he felt was a shockingly short time. Determined to not make a  _complete_ fool of himself and allow himself to neglect the whole stated purpose of being here, he resolutely focused on actually getting some research done. Occasionally he was distracted - not, as he expected, by the temptations of touch, but by the Dark Arts section of Severus' astonishing library, which rivalled even Hogwarts'. And unlike at Hogwarts, a large proportion of these books were teaching manuals. He was reminded of a comment Sirius had once made about Severus, about how he'd come to school already knowing so much about the Dark Arts. Having seen the library - and having been unable to resist flicking through some books that were completely unrelated to the topic at hand - he thought there had probably been more than a little truth to it.

Of course, they still ended up on the sofa in the little sitting room a lot of the time, with a pile of books each, sometimes just reading quietly but more often discussing ideas and options. Their previous meetings had been short and rushed, each of them working on their own sections. Now they were working on the same goal, and Harry was surprised at how well they worked together, and how comfortable it was to be doing so. In some ways he couldn't quite believe how far they'd come in this relationship - partnership, whatever strange combination of the two it was - though of course he chafed at the restriction Severus had put on it, however much he accepted that the other man needed the time.

And before he knew it, it was his last evening with Severus. He'd be leaving the next day, to allow Severus to have the weekend to prepare to return to Hogwarts, and he would start writing the report the Ministry had insisted on as one of their conditions. Severus had insisted that as 'leader' of the project, however nominal that title now was, that was Harry's responsibility; though he also insisted on seeing the report before it was sent, to ensure, he said, that Harry didn't make them both look like fools.

Harry's only response to that had been a  _look_ , followed by the return of the disquieting thought that perhaps he was turning into Severus. Maybe that was why they were getting on so well - and more than just 'well' - at the moment.

All the books had been put away - except the few that Harry had announced he would be carrying off, for research or personal interest - and Harry had packed up all of his things. Tonight Harry had chosen the armchair he had sat in that first day. Severus had given him a curious look as he took his usual spot on the sofa, but Harry had just shaken his head, getting the customary crooked eyebrow in response.

There was quiet for a few minutes, not entirely uncomfortable. "It's going to feel odd, not sitting like this any more." Harry said finally.  _Not being with you,_  was what he didn't feel quite up to saying. It was surprising how quickly he had got used to something he had never had before. Or maybe that was  _why_ he had become so quickly used to it.

Severus made an agreeing noise, and stood suddenly. Walking over to the antique desk against one wall, that had for the last few days been covered in their notes and research materials, he extracted his wand and muttered a few words. A rather dusty bottle appeared on the desk, and then two glass tumblers. He made a vain attempt to dust the bottle off, then unscrewed the top and poured out a measure into each glass.

"Minerva gave me this years ago," he said as he walked back to hand Harry one of the glasses. "One of the best whiskys I've ever come across, but I haven't yet had an occasion that provided a good enough excuse to justify drinking it."

Harry smiled his thanks, and took a cautious sip. It was good. Strong, but good. The kick of the alcohol reminded him that he rarely drank, not liking to do so alone, and warned him to be careful. "An excuse, am I?" he asked, swirling the glass and watching the light catch in the clear amber liquid.

"But of course." He returned to his seat, leaning forward slightly. "Harry." He began, took a sip from his own glass, and continued, "You should know that you will be welcome if you wish to visit me at Hogwarts."

"Glad to hear it," replied Harry, as suavely as he could manage. The little knot of tension caused by the bit of his mind that had been horribly convinced that once he left Severus' house, it would all go back to the way it had been before relaxed, and he fought the overly pleased smile that was trying to creep onto his face.

"Just make sure you send me a message first. I may have other plans." Harry thought the attempt at a usual level of irascibility hadn't come off quite as well as Severus had planned.

"Of course," he said. "I'm sure your social schedule is absolutely packed. What with all those detentions you have to give and all."

"I'm glad you understand. And now that we have that out of the way, would you come and sit here?"

Harry blinked, and wondered how Severus had known what he had only just realised himself. He took another sip from his glass and crossed the room to sit next to Severus, snugged comfortably in against his side. "You can always visit too," he said when he was settled. "Let me know, and I'll make sure the Floo is open."

"Thank you."

Harry turned slightly and looked up at Severus, about to say something, when the words were cut off by Severus' mouth descending on his. They metamorphosed into a purr of sheer contentment, as the kiss lengthened and deepened. Harry fumbled his glass onto the side table before he dropped it.

"Mm," he said, when Severus finally relinquished his mouth, "I'm  _definitely_ going to miss that."

"I should hope you would." He lowered his mouth to place a line of kisses down Harry's throat. He'd soon discovered that Harry was particularly sensitive to those attentions, and seemed to positively delight in the little moans Harry couldn't seem to stop himself from letting out. That mouth moved down as elegant fingers slipped the top button of his shirt out of its hole, kissed the new patch of skin revealed. Harry whimpered.

"Stop." It came out as barely more than a whisper, and he made no move to disentangle himself from Severus' grasp, but the other man froze anyway.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just... I'm not trying to, but. If you don't stop now, I don't know that I'll be able to stop myself."

"I see," he said, and kept unbuttoning, placing a soft kiss against every bit of fresh skin uncovered.

Harry's fingers gripped convulsively against Severus' back as parts of him that hadn't been touched by hands other than his own in far too long a time were suddenly paid close attention to. He was so hard, and he had to make a conscious effort to stop his hips shifting restlessly, seeking some - any - friction. "Severus," he gasped out through a throat gone suddenly dry. "Stop."

"Do you really want me to?" He lifted his head and looked down at Harry, curiosity plain on his face.

"Not... not really. Won't you want to, though?"

"Not tonight, I think. Time is, after all, precious."

He undid the last button and let the material fall open. He trailed his fingers from the waistband of Harry's trousers up to his throat, and Harry shuddered, astonished at the depth of his reaction to such a simple touch.

"God," he muttered, his hands clutching at the soft material of Severus' shirt.

"Yes?"

The little breath Harry had left huffed out of him as a laugh, easing some of the almost unbearable tension building in his chest, composed of lust and love and anticipation in heady proportions. "Arrogant bastard." He leaned up for another kiss, short and almost chaste.

Severus smiled at him. "Would you care to move this to a more favourable location?"

"Yes," answered Harry, and, added thoughtfully, as he gathered his breath again, "How on earth can you put together such complicated sentences at a time like this?"

"Easily." And he was  _smirking_  as he said it. Picking up his glass, he drained the last of the whisky and stood. He offered Harry a hand up, which he accepted gladly, using the momentum of standing to sway him against Severus so they were pressed body to body. The cotton of Severus' shirt felt surprisingly sensuous against his bared skin.

Somehow they made it up the stairs, though the short trip didn't make much impression on Harry. He was much more caught up by the acute consciousness of Severus' presence beside him, and where they were going, and why, than by the corridors and stairs which were now familiar to him.

Severus pushed open the door of his bedroom, and Harry managed to extract himself from his rather lust-fogged haze to look around quickly. He'd never been in this room before, one of the few in the house he hadn't seen. He gathered a vague impression of heavy curtains and a roaring fire in the fireplace, orange light catching on carved bedposts, before arms wrapped around him again and he was urged into another deep, possessive kiss, his back hard against the wood of the now closed door.

He gasped for breath as he was freed, and gasped again as Severus folded gracefully to his knees in front of him. It was another of the images that had occurred repeatedly in his fantasies, but he'd never thought to see, even with the newest developments in their relationship. Severus Snape wasn't supposed to kneel to anyone, but it seemed he would to Harry, and Harry's heart gave a leap at the thought. He felt himself get impossibly harder as the deft hands which had already dealt with his shirt unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, slipping them down his legs. He stepped out of them awkwardly, suddenly glad for his decision to go barefoot that evening. Then Severus' gentle hands were easing his underpants down too, cautious of his aching cock, and he was standing near-naked in front of him. He could feel heat in his face and restrained the odd impulse to cover himself.

He was eyed up and down, not an inch missed, or at least that was how it felt, and he shuddered at the almost physical feeling of that scrutinising gaze. Severus leaned in and pressed a kiss to one side of Harry's navel. "Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, and Harry blushed harder in pleasure and embarrassment.

And then that gorgeous mouth, that could wreak such havoc on him when it was simply working on his throat, was descending towards his cock, and he had just a moment to suck in a deep breath of anticipation before he was swallowed whole. Warm wet velvet heat enclosed him and he whimpered again, opening his legs wantonly, spreading them as widely as he could and not fall over. His hands scrabbled futilely for purchase against the smooth wood of the door behind him as he tried to resist the impulse to bury his hands in the hair that was now stroking his thighs in teasing brushes of additional sensation.

Severus' hands held his arse, holding him in place for him to wreak his will. His fingernails dug in slightly, the hint of pain adding an extra edge to the pleasure coursing through Harry. With what little was left of his brain, he held back the urge to thrust into the welcoming warmth, pressing his back harder against the door. It had been so, so long since anyone had done this to him, and the sheer  _contact_ was almost more than he could bear. Unrealised sounds spilled from his mouth as Severus pulled up slightly and slid back, the soft cushion of his lips and tongue caressing every inch of him, just a hint of teeth from time to time, and he could feel climax threatening almost embarrassingly fast.

He forced his voice to form the word "Severus," almost coherently, the only warning he could muster. His hands clenched around strands of fine, slippery hair, and he wondered absently when they had buried themselves there. He opened his eyes, looking down in bemusement, but his gaze refused to focus properly. He'd lost his glasses somewhere too, but as Severus' eyes flicked up to meet his, he could still just make out Severus' face. He hummed and rubbed his tongue in tiny circles against the underside of Harry's cock. Harry bucked into Severus' mouth and came with a groan as it all became more than he could bear, his eyes falling shut again as he climaxed almost violently. He sagged bonelessly, kept upright only by Severus and the door. Floating pleasantly, he felt himself being gently urged down to kneel opposite Severus.

When his body was more or less under his control once more, he forced his eyelids open. Severus was still looking up at him, eyes intent, that familiar tiny smile again playing around the edges of his mouth. Seen from bare centimetres away, it now had more than a little self-satisfaction in it. "My God," Harry said, his voice sounding rather creaky to his own ears. "Where on earth did you learn to do that?" spilled out before his sex-addled brain could censor it.

Severus leaned in and kissed Harry quickly, gently, was gone almost before Harry could register the taste of himself on his lips. "Are you sure you want to know that?" he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Harry thought about it as best he could with fragments of his mind still scattered across the cosmos. "No, maybe not," he said, and leaned in to return the kiss despite the aftertaste.

"Now that's out of the way, do you think we might make it to the bed?" asked Severus.

Harry forced himself to his feet in lieu of answer, and walked towards the bed. He was irrationally proud of the fact that he managed it in a straight line, without stumbling. He slid onto it, the crisp linens whispering against his naked, sensitised skin. Stretched out to his full length, his feet had not a chance of touching the carved footboard. He looked up at Severus, who was standing by the side of the bed, watching him again, one hand toying with the top button of his shirt.

"You look very comfortable there," he said as he caught Harry's look. His free hand reached into his trouser pocket to extract his wand and set it on the bedside table.

"I am," he replied. His gaze caught and lingered on the rather obvious bulge in Severus' trousers. "But you look overdressed to me. I think it might be a good idea if you got undressed and joined me before your bed eats me whole."

"And here I thought I'd already done that," replied Severus, shedding his shirt before he'd even finished the sentence.

Harry blushed again and dropped his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, Severus was stepping out of his trousers and underpants together. Before Harry had a chance to register his first sight of Severus dressed in nothing but his bare skin, let alone look at it to his satisfaction, the other man was stretching out next to him.

"Now that's not fair," said Harry, and moved away a little so he could appreciate the length of pale skin exposed for his benefit. Severus held himself still under the scrutiny, a faintly indulgent look on his face. Harry was intensely grateful that Severus had already taken the edge off. He could feel himself starting to get hard again already, just looking at Severus and knowing that he was free to touch, to do everything he had wanted to.

Eventually Harry slid close again. He had not nearly looked his fill, but he was confident now that he would have other chances to try to sate himself on that sight. He wound his arms around Severus as soon as he was close enough and pulled them together, skin to skin for the first time.

He closed his eyes and buried his head in the crook of Severus' shoulder, taking a deep breath at the sweetness of it. They fit together as well in bed as they did in the sofa, and his nose was filled with the smell of Severus, musk and sweat now diluting the clean soap scent that was usual. The skin of his back was soft under his hands, and lightly haired as he stroked down and up the long sweep of muscle. Severus' erection jutted against his stomach, the velvety head rubbing gently against his skin as the other man moved closer still, wrapping his arms around Harry in turn, and the coil of desire began to tighten again in the pit of his belly.

He inhaled one more time and moved slightly, just enough so he could kiss Severus again. Freeing one hand, he moved it down between them, tracing briefly across Severus' chest and stomach until he could wrap it around his cock. It lay hot and silken in his hand, and Severus arched into the touch. Harry squeezed gently, learning the feel of it, the weight and length and texture, the way Severus moaned under his breath when he rubbed his thumb against the head.

He stroked his hand up once, slowly, and suddenly found himself on his back, with Severus leaning over, not quite on top of him. "What...?" he began, trying to sit up.

Severus stopped him. "Nothing. Just... let me have this." He was looking down at him, his dark eyes earnest. "You can have the next time, but this time is mine."

Harry smiled, and relaxed into the mattress again. "All right," he said, ridiculously pleased by how easily Severus had spoken of the 'next time'.

He received a smile in return, the most tender expression he had ever seen on Severus' face, far more tender than anything he'd ever expected to see. Suddenly he was reminded that Severus had said he felt the same way as Harry did, although they had not talked about it again since that first day. Their actions had spoken enough.

"Harry?" Severus was still looking down at him, frowning slightly.

"Sorry. Just remembered something." He smiled apologetically.

Severus' eyebrows rose. "I must be doing something wrong, then, if you can still think."

Harry had just a moment to feel worried before Severus' teeth were setting gently into his earlobe, and he moaned. He'd figured out very early on that Harry was extremely sensitive to that particular attention, and seemed to enjoy exploiting the discovered weakness. His tongue traced the shell of Harry's ear, and Harry panted.

As that mouth began to move along the line of jaw, nibbling down his neck, he squirmed, seeking contact for his cock, now more than ready to continue. Severus shifted as if he had read his mind, moving over him, slipping between Harry's legs to lie cradled between his hips and thighs, but he showed no sign of wanting to move from Harry's throat and shoulder.

"More," he demanded between pants.

And Severus moved, as if the word was a catalyst, down Harry's torso, slithering down his body with all the grace of his house mascot. He paused briefly to flick his tongue over each pebbled nipple, dipped into his navel, nuzzled at the hollow of his hip while Harry panted and moaned and whimpered above him, powerless to halt the stream of babble that spilled from him.

One long, wet lick up his cock and Harry thrust up involuntarily, but Severus had already moved away. Moved further down, his tongue trailing over Harry's balls, his hands under his arse pulling it up so he could lick up the cleft. Harry babbled harder as the tongue that had already proven its talents all over his body stroked over his entrance again and again. He spread his legs as far apart as he could as Severus' tongue slid into him, fucking him leisurely, driving him to the very edge of insanity.

Then a slick finger was probing him questioningly, and Harry whimpered something that must have been taken as assent, because it entered him all the way in one smooth motion. It was quickly joined by another, long, elegant, reaching impossibly deep inside, and he pushed down eagerly against them. The pleasure-pain was so much more than he had remembered, and it only got better when Severus flexed his fingers to brush against his prostate. He paused a moment, rubbing gently against the gland as Harry writhed against the touch. Then he began to finger-fuck him in earnest, pulling his fingers out and plunging back in as far as they could go.

He moved back up Harry's body without breaking his rhythm, and the first Harry knew of the movement was when Severus' lips descended on his. He kissed back eagerly, hungrily, pushing his tongue into Severus' mouth with the same motion as the fingers working in his arse.

"God, please," he ground out when Severus moved back to his neck, sucking a mark against his collarbone.

Severus' lifted his, looked down at him with smirking mouth and gleaming eyes. "What would you like, Harry?"

Those fingers bumped his prostate  _again_ , and Harry clung desperately to the edge of orgasm. "Oh God," he moaned, trying to gather enough brain cells to answer the question. "Fuck me. Please!" His face contorted, somewhere between distress and pleasure.

Severus kissed him again, gently. "Gladly." And then his fingers were pulling away, but before Harry could do more than whimper in protest, Severus' erection was nudging his entrance.

He thought he was babbling again, pleas spilling from his gasping mouth, but he couldn't tell. He arched and cried out, overwhelmed with pleasure as Severus' cock, as long and slender as the rest of him, glided into him as easily as his fingers had, filling him just as he had been craving so long. He stopped there, not moving, until Harry tilted his hips up further and twined his limbs around Severus, begging shamelessly for more with his whole body. And Severus obliged, pulling out and thrusting back in slowly, doing it again and again until he found the perfect angle. Harry cried out again and convulsed in his arms, staring up into his face, mere inches away. He was panting too, the sounds like a caress on Harry's ears and his heart caught at the look on his face. But he was still moving so excruciatingly slowly.

Harry forced his head up, brushed a kiss against his chin, caught his breath as much as he could. "Fuck me," he said again. "Like you've been wanting to do for so long. Do it. Please."

Severus stared down at him for a moment, his hips stilling in their precise movements. Harry pulled his head down so he could whisper in his ear. "Please," he repeated.

And then Severus finally let go. Harry clutched at his shoulders as he was pounded mercilessly, Severus' cock leaving and re-entering him again and again and again at a near-frantic pace, sliding over his prostate every single time. He could taste blood in his mouth. He was fairly sure he had bitten his lip and was leaving marks in Severus' skin, but he couldn't care, lost as he was in the pleasure that was drowning him. He writhed, pushing back against every thrust, taking everything Severus had to give and pleading for more. He was so close, he just needed...

Then Severus' hand worked between their sweat-slicked bodies, and curled around his cock, and somehow he'd managed to find the lubricant again because his hand was wet and warm and tight around him. It only took a couple of strokes before Harry gave a wail and came, arching up and freezing in Severus' arms, his eyes screwed shut, his face twisted in sheer pleasure as his second climax washed over him. And Severus was coming too, deep in his arse, crying out for the first time and clinging to Harry as hard as Harry was clinging to him, as if they could anchor each other against the overwhelming pleasure. The sound made Harry spasm again, and then he slumped against the bed, Severus' weight pushing him deeper into the mattress.

It was long moments before either of them could move. Then Severus pulled out slowly, and they both moaned. When he tried to move away, Harry refused to let him, and after a second he relaxed again. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" asked Harry, frowning slightly. His voice was hoarse, rusty-sounding.

"For being so rough."

Harry pressed a kiss against his shoulder, then nuzzled it. "Idiot," he said, and it came out far too fondly. "I loved it, as if you couldn't tell."

Severus pushed himself up to look into his face searchingly. He seemed satisfied with what he saw there, because he leaned in to kiss Harry. This time when he moved, Harry let him. He reached for his wand. Harry snuggled in against him as he cleaned them both. "Thank you," he said.

It was Severus' turn to ask, "For what?"

"Oh, for... everything." He looked up at Severus, who took the unspoken cue and kissed him.

"It was entirely my pleasure," he said, giving Harry that soft, untainted smile again.

Harry smiled back. "Glad to hear it," he said, laying his head on Severus' shoulder. He yawned. "G'night."

Severus looped an arm around Harry and pulled him closer still, brushing a kiss to the top of his head. "Good night."

***

Several weeks later, Harry was preparing to give a dinner party, his first since he'd moved into his house. His first ever, in fact. He'd issued the invitations in person, to everyone from Severus, to Alex, to assorted Weasleys (now, of course, including Hermione), to Professor Dumbledore. He'd told Molly - who had long bemoaned his lack of inclination to entertain - that he would be making a couple of announcements at the dinner, and had to restrain a smile at the expression on her face. He had the feeling that his announcements wouldn't be quite what she had expected, and he couldn't help just a twinge of slightly malicious pleasure.

He told himself he ought to feel bad about that.

He'd invited Alex at their last public dinner meeting. She'd mentioned that she was seeing someone now too, and he'd told her that of course she could bring a date - in fact, it would be really good if she did. He'd thanked for all her help with Molly, but told her that he was finally ready to come clean, as it were. She'd smiled, and said in that case she wouldn't miss it for the world - and she'd bring her 'friend'.

Everything was ready, and his guests would be arriving the next evening, but he was incredibly nervous. His life had changed a lot - an incredible amount - over the last few weeks, and once he told everyone, he would have irrevocably stepped out of the little cocoon of secrecy he'd been hiding in for years. Naturally, there were some things he wasn't going to share yet, but what he had planned was enough to set off butterflies in his stomach. One piece of news he was sure would be received with pleasure by everyone. The other, well. For that he'd have to wait and see, although he could at least be sure of the support of some of them.

Harry had visited Severus twice in the weeks that had passed since his stay at Severus' house over the Easter holidays. He'd been more than happy to find that the rapport between them seemed to show no signs of fading. They had owled each other between visits too, exchanging news and anecdotes every few days, just keeping in contact and up to date. And then there had been the occasional firetalk. He'd spent the night in Severus' rooms at Hogwarts on both his visits, and only the minimum possible time had been spent on research questions. Severus had visited him once too, but he had only been able to stay a few hours. As Head of Slytherin, he had to be available if his students needed him, not to mention having a reputation for prowling the halls that required considerable, and constant, upkeep in order to maintain the desired level of fear in the students.

On his last visit to Hogwarts, the Headmaster had met him on the stairs, and asked him to his office for a quick chat. He'd settled Harry in with tea and a biscuit. Then he'd said - naturally when Harry had just taken a sip - 'Would you consider teaching Charms next year, Harry?"

Harry had spluttered, just managing  _not_ to spew tea all over Dumbledore's desk. "I know you're doing work on Charms at the moment," explained the Headmaster as Harry tried to restore his breathing after inhaling tea. "And that you're working with Severus. It would be a good move for you, and you're much better qualified for the job than any of the people who have applied. It would be a weight off my mind if you'd take the job."

"But..." said Harry, putting his cup down on the desk before he could have an accident.

"I know you have no experience, but everybody starts out that way. Goodness knows I did. If you accept, you'll have until September to prepare, and I'm here to help you, as will Filius. And I'm sure Severus will be glad to lend you any aid you need." The look he gave Harry left him in no doubt that he was aware of  _exactly_ what his relationship with Severus was.

Harry had mumbled something about needing to think about it, and left, rather dazed. He hadn't told Severus, who had asked about his preoccupation, but had seemed content not to pursue it when Harry had evaded the question. And he had thought about it, after he left Hogwarts the next day.

Dumbledore had made a lot of good points, and Harry couldn't really come up with any true objections. The fleeting thought he'd had about teaching back when he'd visited Hermione sprung up again. In a way, it was what he had been hoping for. Maybe even waiting for. Hogwarts had always been his home, and now it had a whole host of other advantages. And he couldn't help thinking that he'd make a good teacher. A few days later, he'd written to the Headmaster, accepting his offer, and asking if he could arrange for him to send a copy of Professor Flitwick's notes and class plans. The professor had always been a good teacher, and he couldn't think of any place to start that would be better. Dumbledore had written him a very pleased-sounding letter, and sent everything he'd asked for. Then Harry had written to Severus with the news. He'd got a reply that was, considering the source, surprisingly enthusiastic, and he felt even more convinced that he had made the right choice.

Which brought him back to the dinner party. His decision to teach had provided the ideal justification for the dinner that he'd been planning to give for some time but hadn't quite got around to. Hardly anyone had seen his house thus far, for one reason or another. Ron had visited once, but Hermione hadn't, and neither had any other of the Weasleys.

And then when he'd realised he'd have them all in the house, he couldn't help thinking that perhaps it was time he confessed all. After all, he was in a relationship now, one he hoped would be permanent. He was fairly sure Hermione had already guessed - he'd dropped some fairly broad hints, both intentionally and unintentionally - and if she knew, Ron probably did too. He hoped Professor Dumbledore's presence would help restrain Molly when she found out, and it wasn't as if he had anything to hide - or could hide - from him. And besides, if Alex was going to be there with her 'someone special', maybe planning their wedding would help distract Molly. He could always hope.

As the clock ticked to 'time for guests to arrive', he took down the anti-Apparition wards, and unblocked the Floo. Then he waited, going over what he'd planned to say again and again, though he was sure that all of the words would fall out of his head as soon as he started to say them. Ron and Hermione were the first to arrive, bearing an 'ethnic carving' for his house, a souvenir of their honeymoon in Africa. Harry put it on a shelf, where it slipped neatly in among the souvenirs of his own travels as if it had always belonged there.

After them, people arrived in quick succession. Severus arrived towards the end, and received a few curious looks from those, like Molly, who hadn't known of his work with Harry. Harry was pleased to see, though, that at least none of the looks were hostile. They exchanged a quick greeting, and then Harry returned to his other guests. He wished he could spend more time with Severus, but there were some things that weren't his to reveal.

Alex was the last to arrive. She stepped out of the Floo, and hugged Harry, who happened to be standing in front of it at the time. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly's face brighten, seeing her hopes, as she thought, coming to fruition. Harry gave Alex a curious look as he extricated himself from her embrace. He was about to say something - ask about her companion, or about the rather enthusiastic greeting - when the fire turned green again and Tonks stepped out. Harry stared.

"Wotcher," said Tonks, shaking hands with him. Harry blinked, hard, as if to clear his eyes. Molly, at the side of the room, looked rather puzzled.

"You know Tonks, don't you?" asked Alex, looking at Harry with a rather smug smile on her face. "You did say to bring her."

"Er," said Harry. "Yes, of course." He hadn't expected  _this_ when he'd issued his invitation. Although now that he thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Their public meetings had been 'camouflage' of a sort for both of them, it seemed.

And it was good to see Tonks again - he hadn't seen much of the surviving Order members since the end of the war. He chatted with the two of them for a while, slipping Alex faintly accusing looks from time to time. After all, he'd told her everything. Well, nearly everything. He hadn't told her exactly what had happened at Severus' house. Still, the principle held. He hadn't even known she wasn't completely straight!

For dinner, the house-elves had brought out and polished the silverware, crystal, china and other dining paraphernalia that Harry had discovered in the  _other_ Potter vault at Gringotts, the one that had been filled with the heirlooms. Godric's Hollow, it seemed, had been living rather beneath their means. Harry nearly flinched at the sheer combined glitter as he led everyone into the large dining room. The table had sized itself to perfectly accommodate everyone, and as they all found their places, dishes began to appear on it in a rather Hogwarts-like manner. Harry hadn't known his house-elves could do that. He wondered if Hermione had realised that the house-elves were responsible, although she seemed to have left her elf-freeing days far behind her.

Somehow, the elves had worked out a near-perfect seating plan too, in the time since Tonks had arrived. Severus, seated between Hermione and Alex, seemed to be reasonably content. Harry himself was on Alex's other side, with Tonks for his other neighbour. Since Molly was safely at the other end of the table, Harry was perfectly happy chatting to them, occasionally addressing a remark to Severus or Hermione. Eventually they fell into a discussion of their research, an even more interesting area now that the Ministry had approved the tests of the Imperius counters on volunteers. Harry couldn't help feeling that his new job - and Dumbledore's volunteering to supervise the tests - had something to do with how easily that permission had been granted.

As the dessert dishes vanished and everyone nursed their last glass of wine (or juice, according to preference), Harry stood. Everyone fell quickly silent with no need for glass-tapping, and all eyes turned to him. He took a deep breath. He discovered he was not nearly as nervous as he had expected to be. He glanced quickly down to his right. Severus gave him the most minute of encouraging nods, and Alex smiled.

"You all know I asked you here because I had an announcement to make. I'm sure it will make some of you very happy to hear I've finally managed to get a real job," he said, virtuously not looking at Molly. "From September, thanks to Professor Dumbledore, I'm going to be teaching Charms at Hogwarts." There was a general babble of congratulations from all around the table, except from Dumbledore and Severus, who had the advantage of advance knowledge. He sat back down, smiling, happy to know that they were all so happy for him.

As everybody fell silent again, Bill spoke up from his seat halfway down the table. "That's great, Harry, but you know that's not the only announcement we want to hear about! What about you and Alex?"

"What about us?" asked Harry, as innocently as he could manage.

"When are you two going to make it official?"

Harry cast a glance at Alex, who looked faintly uncomfortable at the line of questioning - not surprising with Tonks there, and what he'd led her to believe. It was time, Harry decided. Time to confess all, and hope they understood. He forcibly kept himself from fiddling with anything, and said, "Look, if you want an official answer, Alex and I are officially friends," he said firmly. He took a deep breath and was about to continue when George decided to add his two pence.

"Aw, Harry, that's not fair! You need a love life!"

"Actually, I happen to have a perfectly good love life - and he and I are very happy together!" Suddenly it was all very quiet. The part of Harry that wasn't shocked by the way it had suddenly come out - not at all the way he'd planned - could just see half of them thinking 'Did he just say  _he_?' The expression on Hermione's face, though, said he was doing just what she'd expected.

"Sorry," he said softly, to no one in particular, his voice perfectly audible in the silence. "I… didn't mean to just… have it out like that."

For several moments, no one said anything, and Harry's heart sank. He had to keep himself from looking over at Severus, fixing his eyes on a tiny stain on the tablecloth just in front of him. "Well, you should have years ago!" said Molly finally. "Harry, dear, I… oh, I'm  _sorry_!" She smiled at him, and while it wasn't as warm as it had been earlier, it was a real smile.

"Molly, it's - I know you meant well, it's all right..." He dared a look around the table again. No one else who hadn't known already looked horrified either, just a little surprised, and Harry felt rather guilty now. Maybe - definitely - he should have told them this before. It wasn't as if any of them would sell it to the papers or something absurd like that, and he should have known better than to think they'd think less of him for it.

He smiled back at Molly and drank down the rest of his wine in one gulp. Alex reached over and touched him gently on the hand. Past her, Severus was looking at him gravely. Harry smiled at them both and then looked past them to address Hermione. "Well?" he asked.

"It's about time, Harry," she said, and he smiled.

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, about as long as you have. Ron and I have been betting on just when you'd get around to telling us."

"Who won?" he asked, more curious than offended.

She made a faintly disgusted face. "He did. I thought you'd take longer. Although I did win the one on what job you'd end up with, which is some consolation."

Harry mock-glared at her. "Some friends you are, making bets on my life."

"What else are friends for?" grinned Ron, breaking into the conversation, and Harry grimaced back at him before turning to say something to Tonks. He could sense Hermione's smile, but ignored it as pointedly as he could.

After they finally left the dining table to move to the living room, he found that they could all laugh about it, everyone digging up anecdotes to 'prove' that they'd always 'known' there was something 'odd' about Harry. The twins were absolutely convinced that Harry had been checking them out not so long ago, but he decided it was probably safer not to admit that they were right.

***

Late that night, Harry sat on the sofa in his study, next to Severus. His other guests had left not very long ago. Molly seemed to have got over her surprise well, hugging him as she said goodbye, and asking why on earth he hadn't told her before. He'd stammered something, trying not to sound as if he hadn't trusted her, and she'd smiled at him as she stepped into the Floo. Everyone had seemed happy at his first news, and taken the second well, and all in all he was happy with the way things had turned out.

He was happier that Severus had managed to be the last to leave. Professor Dumbledore had looked knowingly at them both as he prepared to Apparate away, but hadn't said anything.

"I think that went rather well, don't you?" Harry asked. He dropped his head back against the sofa-back, and closed his eyes. He was surprisingly tired. Then again, it was rather late, and it had been a fairly draining evening.

"Did you truly expect them to reject you?" There was more curiosity than sarcasm in Severus' voice, and Harry didn't bother making the effort to lift his eyelids to check his expression.

"No, but 'expect' and 'worry' don't always fit together terribly well."

"In that case, yes, it did go well, Harry. I am... happy for you." Harry turned his head and his eyes opened slowly as he felt warm, gentle breath against his cheek, and smelled mint. Severus' face was right next to his, fallen out of its usual stern lines into something perilously close to tender. "Now, it has been quite a while since I saw you last, but I do not have to return to Hogwarts tonight, and if you have no objection, I thought we might indulge in something a little more constructive than discussing the ways your friends  _might_ have reacted, but didn't."

"No objections here," said Harry. He lifted his suddenly-light arms to pull Severus closer, and kissed him warmly.


End file.
